


hope not

by mirkwood131



Series: EXO Central [53]
Category: EXO (Band), Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Cheating, Depression, Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 16:57:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirkwood131/pseuds/mirkwood131
Summary: When people start getting sick, Baekhyun is one of the first ones that are included in the mandatory donation program. There, he meets Kyungsoo, and the days aren't out of a sudden so gloomy. Until Kyungsoo leaves, and he is faced once more with solitude.Should he run away or give in?





	hope not

**Author's Note:**

> if you are sensitive to the topics of depression and suicidal thoughts, read with caution.  
> song recom: [ BlackPink-Hope not ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gk8QQdSrxRo)
> 
> hope you'll enjoy:)

_Prologue_

 

Baekhyun fell down on the floor.

“He shouldn’t have moved. Why did you let him?”

“He was unconscious. How should I have known that he was going to fall from the bed?”

“Watch your mouth. Walls have ears. Hey…can you hear me?”

“Huh…”

Baekhyun tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. Everything was blurry around him, swirling around in shades of blue and brown that couldn’t form any shape. He thought that he nodded, but the movement made everything worse. His head hit the cold tiles; the smash reverberated through his skull, down his temples, right into the marrow of his bones.

“He might’ve had a seizure or something.”

“Of course he had. He might die.”

Baekhyun mumbled something, opening his eyes. His fingers grabbed something soft, pliable. He pulled.

“You are safe. Or as safe as you can be.”

“Put him on the bed and make sure he doesn’t fall again.”

The room started spinning again, faster than before. He felt his body float in the air for a couple of moments; a loud grunt and crack, before his back was against something soft.

“You’re okay, buddy. Don’t worry, we’ll make you better.”

He nodded, or at least he tried to. The bones were tight against his flesh, skin squeezing everything inside. Nothing made sense. It was all filled with a thick fog, seeping into every crevice of his being.

Except for his head, he couldn’t feel the rest of his body.

“Don’t move. You are okay. In a couple of days you’ll be just as good.”

Baekhyun wasn’t sure where that voice was coming from. It could have been from every direction, an echo moving around until the air was eating it whole; just another remain in the fog, invisible to his eyes.

“Where…” he whispered.

But his lips were cracked. Every single rise and fall of his ribs was bringing stinging pain over his body. The skin was cracking, peeling off or that’s what he thought.

“You don’t have to talk, just rest.”

Where was he?

 

_Chapter 1_

That day was not like the rest of them, he thought. His shoes was covered in mud, soaking wet from the rain that was falling right over him. He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, with the cracked phone right at his feet, smashed into pieces; glass, metal, some plastic. So much plastic.

But he didn’t really care about it anymore. In fact, he still cared, all too much, but the smile was not leaving his face no matter how wet or cold he was.

“Damn it, I got the scholarship,” he whispered as a man gave him a glance before he disappeared into the heavy pour. “I really got it.”

Baekhyun picked the phone from the ground, piece by piece and shoved it in the pocket of his hoodie. He ran back home, as fast as he could, until his lungs started burning along with his throat.

He stopped, looking around again.

Everything wasn’t so shitty anymore.

“Damn it, I got it,” he said again, louder.

His run resembled more a walk when he reached the front door of his apartment, after 3 flights of stairs. He opened it, pushed to the wall and took his shoes off; threw them in a corner and grinned once again.

“I got the fucking scholarship!” he yelled. “Did you hear me?! I got it.”

Baekhyun entered the living room, the only space in the entire apartment not crammed with books and flying written pages. It had Chinese vases and a big leather couch in the middle of it while on the floor there was a white fur rug. He hated the room. No, he hated those blue vases that could just crack.

“I did. You are…soaking.”

“Yeah, I know. But I just couldn’t…you know. I can’t believe I got it,” he said, sitting down next to him. “Why are you so quiet?”

“Nothing…just some work stuff that annoys me.”

“What work stuff?” he asked, leaning over his arm.

Baekhyun smiled, kissing his cheek. “I love you…”

“I know…” the other smiled, touching the back of his hand. “I’m happy for you…it’s just-“

“I know. Don’t worry,” he sighed.

Baekhyun shifted on the couch until his head was on the other’s shoulder. He was typing on the laptop, the sound lulling him to sleep.

“You should change your clothes and take a shower. Don’t get sick.”

“Alright.”

“Baek…”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” he said, smiling. “I really do.”

“I know.”

“Okay…I’ll see you in the bedroom.”

 

In the beginning, they were paying you for it. Large sums of money for what it seemed a profitable sacrifice; giving up an insignificant part of yourself for the better good of the society; for money. The society didn’t matter, but the richness did.

That’s what was written on all the posters stuck to the walls of buildings, lightning poles and even white, shining vans driving through the cities and towns.

You didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to, but you were encouraged. Money, enough of them to live better than you could have ever imagined. Twice, thrice, some people were going and going, giving up more and more parts of themselves for less and less money. Until there was nothing to give.

But nobody was saying anything about it because most of those who were well enough, weren’t doing it.

“This is so stupid,” Baekhyun said, stopping in front of a poster. “Who would do this?” he asked, pointing at the red writing that was almost jumping from the white background.

“A lot of people.”

“Chanyeol.”

“I’m serious. You should see the queues at the hospitals. They are full of people waiting in line to donate something and then get the money.”

“It’s still stupid,” he said.

They started walking, hand in hand. Outside it was sunny and nobody was paying any attention to them.

“Would you do a donation?” Baekhyun asked after a while.

“Me? I have enough money.”

“I know…but if you didn’t have, then would you?”

“Let’s change the subject,” Chanyeol said. “It’s shitty. We are still healthy.”

“Still,” he laughed. “That’s a good word.”

“I should use it for my presentation today. I’m sure I’m going to smash them,” Chanyeol said.

He placed an arm around his middle and kissed him on the lips, before he let go.

“You’ll smash them.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah…I am,” Baekhyun smiled. “Just breathe in and imagine they wear red boxer briefs. And only that.”

“Okay,” he sighed.

Baekhyun fiddle with his tie, and then patted his abdomen.

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Baekhyun watched him step inside the glass building, merging with the group of people dressed in suits and white crisp shirts that smelled like dry cleaning-he wasn’t really sure how dry cleaned clothes smelled like anyway.

The day was sunny, unlike the rest of them, all passing cloudy and filled with rain. In some parts of the country there were floods, things floating around the muddy waters to be discarded by the waves into the stream and then right into the sea.

Their town was fine. They were fine.

No miniature rivers along the sidewalk, following you wherever you would go. The asphalt was still wet and it smelled like ozone in the air. He read that once, in the article, about the ozone that was being released with the electricity from the thunder and lightning. It made sense.

Chanyeol was gone, swallowed by the huge glass belly of the building. That was his first day at his internship, but he didn’t talk about it with him because he knew Chanyeol wouldn’t listen. He had never been listening whenever he would be stressed. And that day he was plenty.

The streets were not crowded, empty almost. There was another queue in front of the hospital, longer than the ones he had seen before. People dressed in dirty, grubby clothes, greasy hair and bloodshot eyes. Living in the worst parts of the town, in cardboard boxes or in many of the apartments build by the city hall a couple of years ago.

But in the queue there were no people like him or Chanyeol or like the woman dressed in a baby blue mini-skirt passing by him.

He pitied them.

 

He woke up in the middle of the night, sweating. It was cold on his skin, soaking his shirt, tricking down on his back and forearms.

The room was plunged into darkness, but he could see yellow light coming through the crack between the door and the wall.

He sat back down, staring at the light, trying to make out any noises. But everything was nulled by the heartbeat in his ears. Where was he?

The door screeched open.

“He is awake.”                                                                                                                     

“Who are you?”

“So you are feeling better. I am a nurse and you are safe.”

“What does that mean?” Baekhyun asked.

“It means that the donations stopped. Can you still remember who you are?”

“Yes. Byun Baekhyun, 23 years old.”

The woman in front of him shook her head and sat down, on the bed, next to him. He couldn’t make out the contours of her face. Maybe it was better that way.  

“You are 26.”

“I can’t.”

“You’ve been kept in the center for 3 years. I know you can’t remember that. They gave you drugs in the food to-“

“I’m 23,” he whispered, glancing around.

The woman sighed, touching his fingers. He removed his hand like it burnt the skin.

“It’s alright, we don’t want to harm you. Nothing bad will happen to you anymore, I promise,” she smiled.

“What’s your name?”

“Irene. Come on…go back to sleep, get some rest.”

Baekhyun closed his eyes, breathing out all the air.

Nothing made sense.

 

The internship wasn’t what he had expected. Al of his hopes and expectations were churned to pieces by the dusty surface of his desk that smelled like a library shelf and all the files thrown together in the back of his own cubicle that resembled a cage than anything else. There weren’t that many people around, around 20 of them, in similar enclosures, like animals in a zoo.

Even the computer desktops were ancient.

What did he expect after all? Reliving the glory of the old days of the written press that was slowly dying?

“Kiddo…you don’t have much to do. Sorry,” a man with a grey, hamster like moustache said to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…we had to close two thirds of the office space and the remaining, which-“ he huffed, looking around, “is this which is also just about to close. We only sell around…10.ooo copies a month and in our good days we were selling around 300.000. Even more. Uhm…”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Baekhyun asked.

The air and everything around him was aggravating the tightness in his chest. Like a ball of fur growing larger and larger until it would swallow him whole. Even the man smelled like ancient times; old ink and dusty pages kept in tight spaces until to be let out from time to time, to discover they were crumbling to pieces at each touch.

“Uhm…nothing much. We are going to close this place anyway.”

“Then why did you offer the internship?”

“Oh…old routines, don’t ask me. I think Mike might have gone a little cuckoo since the closing of this place. Sorry kiddo.”

Baekhyun looked at him and saw a small, red incision right above his right clavicle. It seemed still fresh.

“What’s that?”

“What?”

“That on your neck?” he asked, gripping the keyboard with his fingers.

“Oh…that,” he laughed. “A donation. I needed some money and they pay really well.”

So in that queue of dirty people there were also men like him, once having a well paid job that got covered by dust.

“Then I’ll just leave. This is pointless,” Baekhyun whispered.

“Yeah, alright. I think it’s better like this,” the man shrugged.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Oh…Kim Junmyeon.”

“Thanks, sir. Now I’ll leave.”

His feet were dragging after him as he stepped out of the glass building; half of him couldn’t wait to be out of there but the other half felt such a dread that it was almost making his body paralyzed. He looked back, at the sun shining orange in the glass, the other buildings reflecting into it from a distance and then his body, down at the base of it.

Cars were passing by him, a continuous stream on the road that seemed to never stop; people as well. Grey coats and black boots passing through the puddles left on the asphalt. But everything he saw was through a fog. Words were mingling inside his head, losing sense and meaning with each passing second of staring at the building. He couldn’t move from there. He didn’t want to.

His phone rang, buzzing in his pocket. Baekhyun picked it up, answered, the stream of words passing idly through his ears exactly like the cars on the road. He could hear them, knew they were there, nod and hum from time to time to not seem unengaged, but he didn’t know what they meant, what they were wanting from him.

After a while, he started walking.

Everything was back to normal, moving at regular speed. He got back home, placed the keys in the hole, twisted them and pushed down on the door knob until it opened with a small creak.

“I’m home.”

“So early?”

“Uhm…yeah. Introductory day,” Baekhyun said.

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah, the office is really nice.”

Chanyeol smiled, giving him a kiss on the lips. “I’m glad. My presentation went really well. We are going to implement some special centers for the transplants so they aren’t done in hospitals anymore.”

“Oh…that’s-“

“It’s a step forward for a growing business plan. 5% of our state budget goes towards the centers from now on,” Chanyeol said.

“Let’s talk about something else…” Baekhyun whispered.

“Are you worried?”

“Of course not. I trust you,” he smiled, wrapping both arms around his torso.

Baekhyun sighed again, kissing his jaw and then resting his cheek over his chest. They stayed like that for a while, until he felt his arm falling asleep, but not even then did he want to move away. It was nice, like everything about Chanyeol.

“Babe…I’m kind of hungry, aren’t you?”

He nodded, even though he didn’t feel like eating. For a while he hadn’t felt like it.

“Let’s make some pasta,” Baekhyun said.

“I just wanted to say that,” he laughed.

“Of course, geniuses think the same.”

Chanyeol hugged him even tighter, kissing the top of his head before letting him go.

 

After a couple of days, he was able to walk on his own, without the help of any nurse. He was only seeing the same two people from the first night, Irene and a man who he had later found out his name: Zhang Yixing.

The place was bigger than he had initially expected, in total 5 floors, but he was only allowed to take walks on the hallway of the third floor, where his room was. Most of the time, Irene was with him.

That day, the breakfast was different; instead of brown bread with butter and a glass of warm milk, he received pancakes with maple syrup and a mug of coffee. The smell lingered inside the room long after he had finished it. He didn’t mind.

“How are you this morning?” Irene asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Good. I think I’m good.”

“Does anything hurt anymore?”

“No…I think I’m okay,” he said, pushing some pillows behind his back.

“Good,” she smiled. “What do you think about a walk through the gardens? Does that sound nice?”

“Yeah…I suppose,” he said after a while.

“Can you stand up on your own?”

They took the elevator to the ground floor; there were a couple of people around, but not too many, most of them dressed in the exact same way as Irene. Smiling at them, sometimes waving. The woman was reciprocating the gestures and Baekhyun wasn’t sure whether or not he was supposed to respond. He didn’t. When they stepped outside, he was glad.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

He nodded, looking around. They were in a garden, filled with tall bushes and trees. Flowers were peaking from colored pots and for the first time in weeks he could hear the sound of birds chirping between the foliage.

“If you want to talk about anything, you can,” she said.

“About what?”

“Whatever you want…the weather, how you feel…”

Baekhyun breathed out, staring at a tree.

“I don’t think I want to talk about anything.”

“Okay, that’s fine too.”

“Okay…”

They kept walking through the yard, between the tall bushes that were shielding them from whoever might have been watching from one of the ground level windows. He was sometimes looking back, at the building, the red brick, fallen down around the corner of the structure. Baekhyun sighed again.

“You have friends here that you can trust,” Irene said after a while. “You can trust me.”

“I know.”

“If you want, I can tell you about myself first. Ice-breaker,” she laughed. “That’s what we used to do back when…”

“I suppose.”

“So, what would you like to know about me?”

“Nothing,” he said after a while.

They stopped in front of a rose bush, surrounded by a small, red fence. Next to it there was a wooden bench on which they sat down.

Baekhyun closed his eyes, feeling the sun rays move along his skin, from his temples right to his jaw and neck; it was warm and tingling, something that he couldn’t remember feeling in a long while.

“Alright, then…I’m just going to say things at random. I’m 33 years old, I used to live in New York, I have a daughter named Yeri and I like chocolate cake. What about you?”

“I…” Baekhyun whispered, glancing at his fingers. “I…like pistachio ice-cream and long walks.”

“That’s good,” Irene smiled, looking at him. “I think…I have this weird memory from when I was a little girl, standing on the beach, staring at the waves crashing right on the hot sand. And it was sliding between my fingers and I thought that I was going towards the waters with it…if I closed my eyes, I could feel that so vividly and get so scared that, when I opened them, I almost expected to be drowning. But I was fine, just on the shore, with the waves still crashing and the sand still sliding…”

Baekhyun gulped down, flexing his index finger. It cracked, so he pressed down, on those 10 joints, waiting for each popping sound, like a signal.

“I wanted to be a writer,” he said. “But I think I was a bad one.”

“Why do you think that?”

He shrugged, looking behind, at the rose bush.

“I just have this impression.”

“Were you happy? Back, in your old life, if I can call it like that?” Irene asked.

Baekhyun sighed, closing his eyes. He tried to imagine how the sand would feel between his fingers, hot against his skin, sliding into the cold waters that would come crashing over him, his legs; damping his clothes. But he couldn’t. There was no trace of sand in his mind because he wasn’t sure what it looked like anymore; faded memories of it, the smell of salty water and the sound of seagulls, flying above his head, melting into the sun and white clouds.

Maybe he had even written something about a sea and a beach sometime. He wondered where it was.

“No,” Baekhyun said.

“Why?”

“I don’t really know why…”

“I was happy in my old life,” Irene said, smiling. “I had just given birth to my baby girl…she was so, so beautiful, with blue eyes and black hair…”

“What happened to her?”

“She…got sick. She got sick and I didn’t have enough money to pay for a donor. Not even a single one would accept doing it for less.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay…she’s in heaven now, not in pain anymore,” Irene smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

 

Baekhyun sat down on the couch, placing the laptop on his lap. It was seven thirty and the entrance door opened. He heard Chanyeol’s laugh, accompanied by a different one, higher in pitch, covering his.

“Babe, I’m home. I brought Jongdae with me!”

He sighed, closing the laptop with a loud pop. The floor screeched underneath their feet and then it finally stopped. In the kitchen there were tiles, the other place in the house except for the bathroom where you couldn’t hear your footsteps pushing down on the old pieces of wood. It was an old house, bought by Chanyeol many years ago on a whim. He liked it the way it was, old and tearing down with each year passing.

“Hey…” Chanyeol said, his head showing through the door frame. “Do you want to sit with us?”

“Aren’t you two talking about politics?”

“Yes, but you should hear too.”

Baekhyun sighed once more, standing up from the couch as Chanyeol was looking at him. The backs of their hands touched for a fraction of a second, before he stepped forward, inside the other room.

“Hello!”

“Hey, Baekhyun! Long time no see, right?”

“Yeah…” he whispered, taking a seat on the chair closest to the window.

Outside was raining, big drops hitting the glass irregularly, crashing on it and breaking apart. He stared at them for a while, as the laugh returned from time to time.

“Baekhyun…?”

“Huh? Sorry…I was just…lost in thoughts,” he said with a slight smile.

“You are part of the common population,” Jongdae said, staring at him.

Baekhyun nodded.

“We-I mean, mostly I, but Chanyeol here is ready to support my decision into the Parliament, I want to submit a law proposal about the compulsory donation during one’s lifetime.”

He didn’t say anything, his gaze returning to the window, where the drops kept falling and falling. The yellow headlights of a car beamed on the surface, suddenly making the contours of the drops stronger.

“What do you think?” Chanyeol asked.

“You two wouldn’t make donations?”

Jongdae sighed, sitting up to pace around the room with his hands behind the back.

“You see…with the spreading of these new, untreatable diseases that just came out of nowhere, if you ask me…our society needs to live in solidarity, work for a common good: saving the lives of hundreds of thousands of sick people, dying every minute because there isn’t an available transplant, because it costs too much. Only rich people can benefit from one. But if this new law would be passed, this problem…wouldn’t be a problem, you see? And it wouldn’t last for a long time. A cure, a real one would be found. We don’t even know why some people just get sick out of the blue and others don’t. It’s like a Russian Roulette.”

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Baekhyun said. “Would you two give transplants?”

“We are both part of the Commission. It needs healthy, functional individuals that-“

“So you wouldn’t. Only the “commoners” need to sacrifice themselves, not you. You are all above the fucking law,” Baekhyun said and left the room, shutting the door close after him.

He ran inside the bedroom and locked the door.

“Open up, Baekhyun! Don’t act like a child, just open the door, please,” Chanyeol said, knocking and knocking.

Baekhyun sat down on the floor, his back leaning on the cold wall; he hit his head, once, twice, feeling the bones vibrate with each kick. He stopped, when it started pounding, lighter and then harder and harder. The knocking had stopped.

He hugged his knees that he brought to his chest.

 

“Baekhyun…” Chanyeol whispered. “Hey…wake up, you are going to get sick like this.”

“Why do you care? Will my organs not be good anymore for you?” he asked, staring into his eyes.

“Babe…”

“Stop calling me that. Stop.”

“Listen to me…”

“I am tired of listening to all of your bullshit, okay?”

“Look…I can arrange for you to not give any donation, not even one. I am part of the Commission, I can talk to Jongdae, make a couple of adjustments. I love you so much, babe…” he said, pressing his forehead over his.

“Do you actually love me?”

“Yes. So much.”

“I don’t believe it,” Baekhyun said.

He pushed him aside with both hands and stood up.

“Baek…don’t do this to me, please. Don’t.”

“What? What shouldn’t I do to you? Believe all your fucking lies? You love me but you’d gladly let them harvest me like I’m some sort of cattle. We are all human, we want to live, not fuel all those fucking rich, old people that just want to live on and on and on. I don’t want to do it, not even if all the fucking people die and I’m the only one left on this fucking Earth.”

 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered.

The wind was blowing between the thin leaves of the rose bush, pushing them from side to side. One petal fell down, on the ground. He picked it up between his fingers, bringing it to his nose.

“It has no scent,” he said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Irene smiled. “If you want, we can go inside.”

“Were you always a nurse?”

“Yes…I was. When the mandatory donations started…I was in charge of the patient recovery.”

“How old would your daughter be now?”

“6…”

Baekhyun let the petal fall down near the leg of the bench, red against the damp brown of the ground.

“Were you married…?” he asked, hugging his legs close to his chest, the tips of his slippers hanging from the edge of the bench.

They fell down too, raising the dust towards his body.

“Yes but…my husband got sick too, a little after Yeri d-died.”

Baekhyun sighed, trying to take one slipper up with his big toe. It fell again, stirring another cloud of dust.

“Were you in a relationship?” Irene asked after a while, when Baekhyun’s gaze was fixated on a spot ahead of them, somewhere on top of another rose bush.

He nodded.

“But what made you so unhappy?” she asked.

Baekhyun shrugged, squeezing his knees even tighter.

“Was it your girlfriend or…”

“I was with a man. A man,” he whispered.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“It wasn’t because of him…or I don’t think so.”

 

He heard two knocks, one after another, before the door opened and Chanyeol stepped inside.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure…” Baekhyun shrugged.

The room was dark, the blinds fully closed; his face was illuminated by the open laptop sitting on his lap. He glanced at Chanyeol, squeezing his eyes.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Baekhyun…”

“What?!” he said, shutting the laptop close.

“We haven’t talked in days. I gave you space…but I think it’s time to discuss some things.”

“There’s nothing to be discussed.”

“I don’t want to seem like the bad guy in all of this, because I am not. What we are trying to do is no crime to humanity. It’s for the well-being of it. What if I was sick and I couldn’t get a transplant because we didn’t have enough money for it? Then how it would have been?”

“But you do have enough money for it. I don’t. Natural selection,” Baekhyun said.

“Don’t think like this…” Chanyeol said, shaking his head. “Please…”

He extended his arms, touching his hand over the blanket. Baekhyun didn’t retract it, staring at their fingers.

“One mandatory transplant will turn into two. Two will turn into three and when you don’t know it, you’ll get locked in a hospital room, ready to die because you don’t have anything left inside of your body.”

“There is going to be a law, one that will make sure that nobody will be put into danger. The whole situation is controlled and safe, Baek…”

“And still, you don’t do a transplant because you are mightier than the law. You are…better than me.”

Chanyeol sighed.

“I decided to give a transplant too. Me and Jongdae.”

“You must be kidding,” Baekhyun laughed.

“I’m not. I love you and I want to prove that to you. Can you believe me?” he asked, looking at him.

Baekhyun glanced down, at their hands, and swallowed.

“I’ll try…”

“Okay…that’s good too. It’s good.”

“Is it?” Baekhyun asked.

“I can only show you that I care, right? And I do, I really do, Baek…”

He licked his lips, chewing on the along the seam of his bottom one until he felt blood trickling into his mouth.

“How is work?” Chanyeol asked.

“Work?”

“At the publishing house?”

“Oh…good,” he said, brushing his thumb over his bottom lip; it ached. “I am…I like it.”

Chanyeol smiled and kissed him on the forehead. His hand moved upwards towards the hem of his pants, pulling on the elastic band. Then, he moved to kiss his lips. Baekhyun pulled away.

“Sorry…I’m not in the mood for…”

“Oh…okay.”

“Hey…” he whispered, touching his face. “I love you…”

The words made Chanyeol smile, leaning towards him to rest his forehead over Baekhyun’s. He breathed in, feeling the other’s warm breath over his skin.

With closed eyes, Baekhyun tried to imagine how it would be to be somewhere else, far away from the city, start fresh, new, without any knowledge or care about what was to happen.

 

“It’s only for a week, the recovery is longer for a transplant like this,” Chanyeol said as he pulled over in the parking lot right in front of the hospital with bright, blue windows that were blinding in the morning sunlight.

Baekhyun sighed. He opened the door and stepped outside, shielding his eyes as he glanced around. There were more cars than ever in the small space between the park and the street behind them. No more empty parking spaces.

“Many people came…” he said. “The hospital must be crowded.”

“By the end of the year the donation centers will be done and ready to function,” Chanyeol said. “Come on…let’s not make them wait.”

Baekhyun followed him towards the building, staring at the back of his neck. Even the entrance hallway was filled by people walking around, talking and shouting; nobody looked happy because nobody was smiling or laughing. They all had the same expression plastered across their faces.

“We need to see Doctor Kim.”

“Is he going to do the surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Will I meet the person who’ll receive my…”

“I don’t think so,” Chanyeol said, glancing at him. “There’s some paperwork and clauses in case of…accidents or organ failure.”

“I wrote you as my contact person,” Baekhyun said. “In case something happens…I want to be incinerated and you can just throw the ashes away afterwards. Don’t keep it in a bowl or something. It’s creepy.”

“Baek…don’t think about that.”

“Why not? It could happen. What’s the chance? 10 in a 100? I could be the 10th person that just has cardiac arrest on the table,” Baekhyun said. “Incineration and then you throw my ashes away. Down the drain if you fancy.”

Chanyeol shook his head. He stopped, right in front of the elevators where more people, in groups of 2 or 3, were waiting.

Baekhyun looked at them, at their faces, trying to decipher what they were feeling in that moment. Whether or not they were just like him, unable to feel anything or say anything. He wasn’t scared, afraid. He was just there, one out of so many people. Out of the sudden, nothing made sense; his whole existence turned minuscule and the idea of death just dumb. Dumb like anything else.

What was the sense in saving people? Giving them transplant after transplant when their only scope was to eventually die. Did it matter that for many of them it was sooner?

Chanyeol intertwined their fingers, squeezing his hand, once, twice. Their sign that everything was going to be alright.

He wasn’t sure when it all started. How did he manage to fall in love with him? Did he?

“I’m here with you…” Chanyeol said. “Don’t worry. It will be over and then we can go back to our lives.”

Baekhyun tried to smile but he couldn’t. It didn’t feel alright to do it when nobody else around was.

What did it mean going back?

He thought that he had nothing to go back too. There was nothing waiting for him out of the operation room, once he would open his eyes and realize a part of him was gone, buried deep into a stranger’s body. One that might live or die because of him. What if his organ was faulty too? His whole being, wrong, unfixable.

Doctor Kim was at the fifth floor, smiling, the only person he had seen doing that. He told them to sit down on the orange sofa while he kept pulling papers out of drawers. There was a tome right in front of him, on the coffee table.

“So…you need to read and sign these.”

“Do you do this to all the patients?” Baekhyun asked. “Or is it just for me…preferential treatment because my boyfriend is in charge of this whole thing?”

“Uhm…” he whispered, glancing at Chanyeol. “We try to do this with everybody.”

He was lying, he knew that. Chanyeol squeezed his hand, a sign to just shut up and pretend he cared one bit about what was written in fancy words all over those dozens and dozens of pages. Stop asking so many question, it said.

He stayed a couple of seconds, maybe 30, sometimes 60, on each of them, a total of 300 seconds spent moving his eyes across the pages. Then, he signed them all, one at a time, staring at the wiggles and curves of his handwriting.

“Good,” the doctor smiled again. “If this is all done…then we can prepare you for the surgery.”

The man stood up, the chair screeched, hitting the edge of the window sill behind, and took the papers.

“This thing will be over in 5 hours. So don’t worry.”

Baekhyun nodded. He wasn’t worrying because he didn’t care.

“Come on, say goodbye to Mr. Park and let’s get you ready for the surgery.”

 

“Maybe we should go back inside,” Irene said.

“I like it outside,” Baekhyun whispered.

“Okay…then we could stay some more. Aren’t your feet cold?”

He shook his head.

“I want to know…have you ever given a donation?” he asked, looking at her.

The light was falling on her face in the shape created by the foliage above their heads; he could clearly see all the wrinkles around her eyes, the sun spots scattered across her cheeks and a mole, right between her eyebrows.

“Once, when the law was put into practice.”

“Why didn’t you…do a donation for your daughter? Or husband?” Baekhyun asked.

“I…I wasn’t compatible with any of them…I did all the tests and they just couldn’t do it.”

“Did you feel guilty about it?”

“Yes…too much guilt. I still do but now…it’s been so long that…”

“My recipient died…” Baekhyun whispered. “My first recipient. The second and the third one didn’t, but I wish they did.”

Irene didn’t say anything, only nodded.

“Why…?”

Baekhyun shook his head, bursting into a laughter that seemed to fill the entire space. It wasn’t a happy one; but like a dry cough, remained stuck in the back of the throat; needing to get it out once and for all. He swallowed, pressing his top teeth into his bottom lip, scratching the skin, biting.

“Sometimes…sometimes I still wish everyone was dead. Dead.”

“Did they say something to you?”

“No…I saw them, walking out of the hospital while I was still there. Still…still there. They weren’t anymore, going back to their fucking lives.”

“And the first one?” Irene asked.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Then we won’t, even though it would be good for you to just get all of your-“

“You don’t know what you are talking about. You have no idea,” Baekhyun said and stood up.

His feet landed bare on the ground, holding his arms close to his chest. Irene didn’t say anything else. She picked the slippers and placed them in front of him.

“Then when you are ready…”

“Who are you people? What is this place, actually?” he asked, turning around. “Where the fuck did you bring me?!”

“Baekhyun, please, calm down,” Irene said, touching his arm. “We are not here to harm you.”

“Any further, right? Is this some sort of sick plan of making me feel safe so that you can use me for some other little project of yours?” he asked, taking a couple of steps back until he touched the bark of a willow tree.

Behind it, there was a pond with ducks swimming inside of it. He hadn’t noticed it before.

“There is no plan,” Irene said. “We are just trying to help you get better.”

“Sure…” he laughed, shaking his head. “That’s what they told me before. All the fucking time. It’s all going to stop, now you’ll go home, we won’t do anything else to you. LIARS!”

Baekhyun dug his nails into the tree trunk until they began throbbing, but he didn’t stop. Irene was coming towards him. He took a step to the left and then another one, until he was only a couple of meters away from the pond. A duck jumped into the water, splashing his ankles.

He took another step, right into the muddy ground and his slipper remained caught into it. The group of ducks on the edge suddenly flew in the air and, as he turned around to look at Irene, he felt her fingers wrap around his wrist.

“You are safe. We aren’t trying to harm you. Nobody is…not anymore. Trust me…” she whispered.

Baekhyun looked back again, at the small waves crashing against the superficial shore. Then back at her; the grasp wasn’t tight, but enough to know that she was back in control. He wiggled his fingers in the mud, feeling it slip between the toes, cold and slimy.

“You’ll get sick. Now, let’s get you inside, okay?”

He nodded.

 

He woke up feeling the room spin around with him. There was too much light inside, too much of everything; noise, chatter, the ventilation system never stopping from its buzz. An alarm clock.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The footsteps on the hallway with the slide of the slippers on the tiles; the wheels of food carts passing before his door. He could see the shadows from underneath the door, breaking the light.

His throat was dry.

Where was Chanyeol?

The door opened, barely, and a man dressed in a white coat stepped inside. He closed it, and coughed, browsing through some papers that he was holding.

“I see that you have woken up,” he said, smiling. “I’m Doctor Kim, if you can remember. We talked before the surgery.”

“I know who you are. Where is Chanyeol?”

“Mr. Park? He had an emergency at work but he said he will come later to check on you. In the meantime, do you mind if I give you a quick examination? It’s a routine one,” the man said, walking closer to the bed.

“Can you give me some water?”

“Oh, of course. I forgot,” he laughed.

The man turned around, and went in the back of the room, towards the window, where there was a small water machine. He picked a plastic glass and filled it to the brim.

“Be careful not to spill it. How do you feel? I assume a little dizzy and tired, which is totally normal. Nothing to be scared of.”

Baekhyun drank the entire cup of water, staring at the singular drop left at the bottom of it. He let it slide around until the men took the cup from him.

“I…when can I go home?” Baekhyun asked.

“Home? The recovery period is of one week, but it depends from person to person. Some take longer, some less, but we want to make sure that you’ll receive the best care possible so that you’ll be in great shape.”

“I feel fine.”

“The stiches are fresh. You need a lot of rest and healthy food. Even if you can’t feel it, your body is exhausted and under shock after the surgery. It will take some time to accommodate. But it was all done in the name of a greater purpose,” the doctor said.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at him.

“Can I see the person that received my donation?” Baekhyun asked.

“It’s confidential, I’m sorry. It’s better for the donor and the recipient to not know about each other. Puts a great deal of pressure on both of them otherwise.”

Baekhyun swallowed, closing his eyes. He opened them again, seeing red and green dots before his eyes.

“I want to…rest then,” he said.

“Of course. I’ll come later to see how you feel.”

The man looked one more time at him before he left the room and closed the door after him. Baekhyun didn’t feel tired. He didn’t feel anything, only a slight ache on the right side of his body. When he lifted his shirt, he could only see the thick, white bandage and nothing else.

He brushed his fingers against it, chewing his cheek.

 

The sound of an alarm woke him up. It kept beeping for a couple of seconds, even half a minute, until it stopped. Silence once again.

He turned on his side but a sharp pain, traveling from his abdomen to his rib cage made him sit again on his back.

“Fuck…” he whispered.

His fingers slipped underneath his shirt, touching the bandage; it felt wet. When he pulled them out, they were stained red.

“Fuck…”

He breathed out, closing his eyes.

“One, two…three, four, five…” Baekhyun whispered.

He touched the bandage again and again, with his left hand too; but then, all of his fingers were red. He pulled the shirt up and stared at the reddened bandage, the small circle getting bigger and bigger.

The door opened.

“Nurse! Get a nurse, I think his stiches broke. Hey…it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not,” Baekhyun whispered, still staring at the bandage and then at his fingers. “Where is Chanyeol? Huh…he didn’t come last night, he didn’t.”

“He’ll come today. Yesterday it was a little hectic at work. But today he will come,” the doctor said, trying to smile. “Nurse! Where are all the nurses in this place?!” he yelled.

Baekhyun flinched. The door opened once again, the wheels on the tiles, closer and closer to his bed.

“Have you seen the news?”

“Keep quiet and change his bandage.”

“They have taken over the Commission. The army is-“

“Just change the bandage and stop talking,” Doctor Kim whispered.

“What Commission? What is going on?” Baekhyun asked. “Tell me what is going on!”

“Keep calm and let the nurse help you. You’ll break the rest of the stiches if you keep acting like this.”

“Where is Chanyeol?!” Baekhyun yelled. “I won’t stop until you tell me where Chanyeol is.”

The man sighed, rubbing between his eyebrows.

“He is…at the Commission. I told you, he’ll come later today.”

 

“You should take a bath,” Irene said as they were walking back to the red brick building. “We have a bathtub and foaming gel. If you want…you could do that.”

“I don’t really like baths,” Baekhyun whispered.

The mud was still all over his foot. It was sticky, cold still. Uncomfortable. He looked back at the pond, at the ducks still swimming inside, catching fish or flying over the brownish-green waters; he wondered how deep it was but he knew it was a question he couldn’t ask Irene. There were many that he couldn’t ask her.

“Can I take a longer shower?” he asked instead, looking at her.

She smiled. “Sure. Of course, as long as you wish.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Irene nodded.

“Do you live here?”

“Yes…Uhm…for a while now.”

They entered the building. It was almost empty, only an old couple sitting on an orange sofa right next to a big window. Outside, the sun was setting, red and yellow between the tree branches that were sheltering the pond and the rose bushes from the eyes of all those inside. He wondered whether he could see them from his floor.

“Baekhyun…do you want to stay in the hallway for a while?”

“No. Sorry,” he said. “I want a shower.”

There was a separate bathroom next to his room; a bathtub, a shower, the toilet right behind the door, and a big, marble sink. It was fancy, maybe the former toilet of a rich person. The tiles were a dark, burnt orange color. He liked it.

“I will be waiting outside,” Irene said. “Take your time and don’t mind me.”

Baekhyun removed his shirt and pants, one at a time. He stepped in front of the big mirror above the sink and stared at his white skin, scattered with red spots and raises all across it. His fingers were gliding across, stopping from time to time over a mark or a certain place. Sometimes, he would push them, probe the flesh; pinch it to make sure it was real; not breaking apart like paper under his touch.

He had 5 scars in total.

“1…2…3…4…5…” he sighed, gliding his thumb over the last one.

The pants fell down on the floor, next to the shirt, and then his underwear. He was standing naked in front of the mirror, staring at the way his ribs and bones were almost pushing the skin, trying to escape its enclosure. They couldn’t.

He turned on the water to the shower and waited, moving his fingers through the stream until it turned hot. The water was falling over his face, hair, body. It was too warm, much too, but he didn’t move. He remained there, feeling his chest shudder and throat hurt.

There was no reason for him to cry, but he couldn’t help but fall to the floor, make himself as small as possible, hugging his knees with both arms; pressing his forehead on the tops of them. He cried.

But he didn’t think about what he had thought he would. He thought about his uncle; about the fact that he didn’t go to his funeral, he refused to. It was the oddest thought that had crossed his mind.

He wondered whether his face was white in the casket and his skin smelling of roses and myrrh, dry like paper. Where there still traces of blood inside his mouth, as he choked on it before he had died. Alone.

Blood, so much blood. He imagined his bed, covered in blood coming from his mouth in streams, more and more and more, swallowing him whole until only his eyes would remain.

His chest shuddered even harder.

 

Irene knocked at the door and entered.

“Hey…it’s been half an hour,” she whispered.

Baekhyun stood up from the bottom of the shower, holding onto the wall behind him. His hand slipped on the tiles, further down, but he managed to stand up and look at her through the fogged window.

“I won’t look but you should change…it’s late.”

He nodded, turning off the faucet. It wasn’t necessary, his whole face was wet, but he wiped his eyes, rubbing them until they were beginning to hurt.

“You okay?” Irene asked, back facing him.

“Yeah…good.”

“Just…good.”

Baekhyun took a towel from the rack-they smelled nice, like detergent, and wiped his body with quick, short motions. He threw the clothes back on his body and coughed.

“You were quick. Did you brush your teeth?”

“No…”

“You should brush them too.”

He smiled, stepping towards the sink. His reflection was blurry on the wet surface, drops dripping down on the edges of it. The toothbrush and toothpaste foreign to him. From a different lifetime when brushing his teeth seemed the most normal thing that he could have done.

“You don’t have to sleep just now but the rules is that everybody should be in their rooms at 9.”

“Why?”

“Rules…makes everything easier to manage,” she smiled. “Come on, someone will clean this afterwards.”

“Don’t you miss home? The way things were before…all of this and that?”

“Weren’t they a little screwed even before that?” Irene asked. “We were just…not paying attention to them, all the signs that at some point everything would just break.”

They entered his room, the size of a rectangle, a one person bed, a closet behind the door and a window with bars in the back of it. There wasn’t even a rug on the floor. Irene closed the door and sighed.

“Does everyone here have a nurse to baby them around?” he asked.

“It’s necessary…some are in worse conditions than others. But after a while, most don’t need the help.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to go to sleep?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Are there any books here?”

“I’m sorry, no books.”

“Then…how did you find me or at least get me in this place?”

Irene sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked down, at her white robe, fiddling with the hem of it.

“I assume you don’t know what happened while you were living in the transplant center. I mean…many things happened in the outside world.”

“I…” he closed his eyes, “when I when to the hospital to give my first transplant…what happened? I know something bad happened to the Commission but afterwards…”

Irene swallowed, glancing at him and then back at her dress.

“After the law was approved by the Parliament…the next thing was to put it into practice, which they did. And the mandatory donations started. The plan was that each healthy individual would give one, without any payment. Further donations were supposed to be paid. But…a month after that, we all knew it, more or less, they faked a terrorist attack on the Commission.”

“Who are…they?”

Irene laughed, her chest shuddering which each sound leaving her mouth.

“They…” she shook her head, “in short, everyone interested to turn all healthy into organ harvests. Sick, rich people. People without money, who couldn’t afford more than one free transplant were supporting their movement. Anyway…but not all of them were in that situation. Some simply wanted the power. A dictatorship. And they had as a backing motive for all of that the dying population. Measures needing to be taken immediately.”

“Who were ‘they’, Irene?! Who?”

“I’m sorry…I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Baekhyun…you have to understand, some things you are not allowed to know.”

“Are you one of them? Do you work for them?” he asked.

“Baekhyun…”

“Just say it!”

 

Baekhyun opened the door and looked outside, through the hallway. It was empty. He stepped out, closing the door, as slowly as he could, and, holding the slippers, he started walking along the wall. Another door opened with a familiar creak, so he stopped. There were footsteps and voices, but they were straying away from him.

He lingered in the same spot for a while, listening to the sounds. A window was open as honks and the screech of tires on the asphalt were discernible; birds chirping. But no sound inside the building. He took another step, then another, faster and faster, on his tip-toes.

His feet were sticking to the tiles and the slippers were crashing into one another from time to time.

Another door opened.

Baekhyun stopped, holding his breath. The wall was cold on his skin. He closed his eyes, counting in his head. There were no voices, just the sound of shoes and rustle of clothes, maybe a medical robe.

Wheels, he was sure of it. Maybe a cart pushed by one of the nurses.

But just like the others, the sounds were getting away from him. He breathed out and moved. Where was he going?

On his right, there was a white door.

“Number 21…” he read.

His fingers wrapped around the knob, ready to push it down when he heard movement from inside the room. He opened it.

Baekhyun slipped inside and closed it.

“Who are you?”

“Baekhyun,” he whispered. “You?”

“Kyungsoo. Donor or recipient?”

“Donor.”

“Recipient,” he smiled. “You might as well be mine.”

“Room 19.”

“Possible,” Kyungsoo shrugged.

“Why aren’t you scared that I broke into your room?”

He shrugged again, leaning on the tower of pillows on the bed.

“I don’t care.”

“Why?”

“Are you supposed to walk like this when you just came out of surgery?” Kyungsoo asked, raising an eyebrow. “What if your guts gush out and you bleed to death in my room?”

“Then it would be your fault for not letting me sit down,” Baekhyun grinned.

They both burst into laughter, looking at quick intervals one at another; he smiled, chewing his bottom lip.

“Sit.”

“Are you rich?”

Kyungsoo hummed, pushing his head into the pillows. “And if I were?”

“Are you?”

“Do I look rich to you?”

Baekhyun shrugged. “You don’t have to look rich to be rich.”

“Wise words said by not so much of a wise man.”

“Your room is bigger than mine,” he said, looking around.

In fact, it wasn’t. There was the same one person bed and closet behind the door, as well as a window with bar right in the back through which he could clearly see the foliage of the trees surrounding the building. He wondered where Chanyeol was.

But he didn’t dwell much on that thought, he couldn’t. Doing that would have meant succumbing to many more thoughts, darker and darker until he wasn’t sure how to escape them. So not thinking at all seemed like a reasonable choice.

Kyungsoo was a welcomed distraction, a kid’s sparkling toy lost in a place only created for adults. He was new, different.

Unlike him or Chanyeol.

“Because I’m rich,” Kyungsoo laughed.

They weren’t talking about surgeries or organ donations; about survival chances or the new laws. When he was closing the door to the room, the outside world, the hallway with its noises, were gone.

Inside the room there was laughter and banter and bad jokes.

“So…” he said. “What would you choose between going to Bali or…Paris?”

Kyungsoo scrunched his forehead, pushing his bony elbows into the mattress.

“Bali…but with one condition. Staying only in the resorts.”

“I want to swim in a pool.”

“And I want to smoke a cigarette.”

“I’ve never smoked before,” Baekhyun said.

He thought about how against it Chanyeol had been, how angry he would become each time the smoke from one would reach his nose or somehow infiltrate into their apartment, among the sheets and books. Then, all the windows would be closed and he would turn on the ventilation system and humidifiers that had lavender oil poured into the water.

“I did. Before I got sick, but I didn’t care much for it. The doctor said I didn’t get sick from smoking anyway.”

Baekhyun hummed, playing with the edge of the white, thin blanket.

“I would like to smoke a little. But these assholes don’t sell cigarettes in the hospital. Or anywhere near.”

Baekhyun smiled, glad he didn’t have an addiction of any sort. He thought again about Chanyeol. Where was he?

“I think I should go back to my room,” he said.

“You should. If they catch you, you’ll turn into a pumpkin, princess,” Kyungsoo laughed.

Baekhyun slowly opened the door, looking from one side to the other of the hallway. It was empty. He stepped into it, closing the door.

There were no sounds around. He wasn’t sure how much he stayed inside the room. No clocks, no cell-phones.

His room was empty, no sign someone entered and hadn’t found him sitting on the bed.

 

It was the first day he was allowed to see other people than Irene or the doctor, Zhang Yixing. The wake-up call was at 7, with Irene entering after a knock at the door, not long enough to let you finish whatever embarrassing business, but there, to give you the impression that you had a choice.

Then, it would be the breakfast: brought on a tray by her, placed on the night stand. Every day the exact same thing. Porridge with seeds and some fruit on top, a glass of warm milk.

There was no need to change clothes. Just a quick wash in the bathroom.

“Today you are going to meet the rest. They are eager to see you,” she said.

Baekhyun nodded.

“I am trying to help you. We want to help you.”

He didn’t say anything, only stared at his bare feet in the blue, open-toed slippers.

“I want to earn your trust because-“

“You won’t.”

Baekhyun followed her through the hallway, to the elevators. The room was at the first floor, a circular one, different from all the ones he had seen. It had big window without bars, red sofas with plump cushions and wooden coffee tables with trays filled with food on them.

There were sweets and milk coffee. He missed milk coffee and cigarettes.

“You can sit wherever you want,” Irene said, smiling.

She touched his back but he flinched, taking a couple of steps away from her. Maybe he was unfair; they were both the products of the circumstances, no more than two players on a board, only given the impression they were making their own decisions. But he didn’t care.

“Where are the rest?”

“They’ll come soon enough, don’t worry.”

Who were they? People like him, ex-harvest machines brought to the last days of their existence?

He sat down on the sofa right next to one of the windows; the cushions were really soft. He dug his finger nails into the materials, scratching it, hoping it would tear apart. Irene sat next to him.

“You can grab a bite if you want.”

“I’m fine.”

He folded his legs underneath him, staring at the floor.

“You don’t happen to have cigarettes, do you?”

Irene smiled, searching through her pockets.

“I actually do.”

“How are you…?”

“Want one?” she asked.

They were Dunhill cigarettes.

He took one from the pack, bringing it to his nose. It smelled as they were supposed to; herbal, a tinge sweet, but pleasant. Irene gave him a lighter while she lifted up to crack the window open.

Baekhyun placed it between his lips, pushed down on the wheel and closed his eyes. He breathed in the smoke, letting it travel down his throat, not only linger in his mouth. It stung a little, tasting different than he had remembered. The smoke left his mouth, on and on and on. He licked his lips, looking at the cigarette between his fingers.

Irene lighted one of her own.

“Better?” she asked.

“Yeah…haven’t smoked in years I suppose.”

“Used to be a smoker?”

Baekhyun shook his head, smiling.

“No…not before the donations.”

“How did it happen?”

Baekhyun placed the cigarette between his lips again and breathed in. The second time was better. He wished they were mentholated, but he could do with that.

“It’s funny. Actually, maybe it isn’t, I don’t even know. You know, it’s hard staying mad at you,” Baekhyun said, looking at her.

“Is it?” she asked, smiling.

He hadn’t notice before, but her nails were red; not long, just passing the nail bed. They fitted her.

“Yes.”

Irene smiled, looking down at the cigarette between her fingers. “So how did you start smoking?”

“After I gave my first donation…I…”

“It’s alright. What happened in the past, remains there. I can keep secrets, trust me.”

Baekhyun smiled, blowing out some smoke.

“There was this person that lived in the room next to mine in the hospital, before I was moved to a center. I found the room by mistake, when I was trying to escape. We hit it right off,” Baekhyun laughed. “That person was…funny and sarcastic and not caring about anything. So unlike me in a way. One night, because I started spending all my nights there, in that room, we took all the sheets, from my room, from that room and…”

 

“I don’t think it’s long enough,” Baekhyun said, looking down through the window at the end of the white sheets.

“We can jump a meter or two.”

“Okay…” he breathed out.

“I’ll be first, chicken.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Yes, you are. Your ass is shaking in the pants. I can see it jiggle.”

“Just get out,” Baekhyun laughed. “Until someone catches us.”

Kyungsoo grinned, glancing back at him. He stayed like that for a while, biting his lower lip until he leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. It was short and right afterwards, he jumped on the window sill, grabbing the sheets with both hands. He pushed one foot at a time in the air, letting them dangle for a while, as Baekhyun’s palms were sweating cold. Then, only the top of his head could be seen.

Baekhyun stared at his descent into the darkness, until he couldn’t see his body anymore. He breathed out, grabbing the sheets and squeezing them until his knuckles turned white.

“You can do this…it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.”

The window sill was slippery, more than he had expected. When his feet were right in the air, the sheets were beginning to fall from between his sweaty fingers, taken over by a coldness that was turning into shivers.

He closed his eyes and if he were more religious, he would have said a prayer; but he only knew fragments.

“God, don’t let me die…” he whispered and pushed himself off the sill. “Fuck!”

His back hit the brick, hard, and then his head the edge of the window; his fingers were slipping down the sheets, beginning to burn from the friction as no matter how much he kept trying, he couldn’t turn around and touch the wall with his feet.

So he let himself slide down like that, sometimes faster and slower, trying to ignore the burning sensation. Time didn’t seem to pass until he heard Kyungsoo’s voice.

“You’re almost done.”

He jumped; fell on his ass on the ground.

“You are so slow.”

“Thanks…” he whispered.

“Come on,” Kyungsoo said, pulling him up.

“I don’t want to do that again.”

“I know…” he smiled.

“Money…did you take the money?”

“Yes, stop worrying.”

“I can’t stop worrying,” Baekhyun whispered.

“Let’s get moving,” he said, intertwining their fingers and pulling him towards the street. “I know there is a shop somewhere around.”

“We could run away…”

They stopped, Kyungsoo turning around on his heels to look at him; their fingers were still connected, feeling the warmth of his hand seeping into his own.

“Run…? Where would we run to?”

He shrugged, looking around. It was fully dark. No sign of the moon or stars. Not even cars on the street. It had only been a week but everything looked different or at least had a different air from before.

“See? It would be stupid. In one week I’m out of the hospital.”

Baekhyun nodded. He knew Kyungsoo didn’t say ‘us’, the ‘two of us leaving the hospital together’. Only him, because he was the patient, not him.

He pulled his hand away from his.

Kyungsoo was walking again, followed by Baekhyun. They reached a corner shop; illuminated, empty. There was only one person at the counter, in the back. The aisles were filled with junk food, juice, ready to eat sandwiches.

“5 packs of Dunhill cigarettes, the blue packaging, with menthol,” Kyungsoo said.

Baekhyun looked around, wondering why the shop assistant didn’t say anything about the way they were dressed: white robes with blue dots on them, blue slippers. They looked funny, they must’ve had.

“Let’s go,” Kyungsoo said, pushing him towards the door.

“Why did we do this?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Kyungsoo grabbed his wrist this time, the packets stuffed in the pockets of his cardigan in the same shade of blue, pulling him faster and faster until they were running on the empty street. The lamps were on, creating long shadows out of their bodies. A car passed by them, slowing down before it increased its pace. Just like them.

Baekhyun was panting when they reached the red brick wall. Kyungsoo sat down on the grass, pulling a packet and a lighter out of it.

“Freedom.”

He sat down next to him, watching the way the cigarette was lying between his fingers, the flame eating away the white paper.

“Want one?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Then you should,” Kyungsoo shrugged.

Baekhyun smiled, staring at the open packet on his lap. He took one out, weighing it on the palm of his hand. Then, he brought it to his nose to smell it.

“Smells nice.”

“I know,” Kyungsoo grinned.

He leaned in again and kissed the corner of his mouth. It made Baekhyun giggle, muffled by the back of his hand. Kyungsoo lighted the cigarette for him and placed it between his lips.

“You’ll cough the first few times until you get the hang of it.”

 

“Did you…did you love that person? I’m sorry if it’s a blunt question,” Irene said, pressing the cigarette butt on the window sill. “I’ll clean that later.”

“Yes…I’m not sure, actually. But we didn’t really have time to think about love…”

“I’m sorry…”

“Why?”

“It must have been hard, for both of you.”

“Maybe…” he sighed.

The door to the room opened and 10 people entered; he counted them, all dressed in the same clothes, each followed by a nurse in a white coat.

“Come on.”

A circle made out of chairs was formed in the middle of the room. Baekhyun sat on the one closest to the window and Irene right behind him, with the hands standing on the back rest.

“It’s okay…” she whispered, brushing her thumb across his neck.

He shivered, glancing back at her for a short moment. Was she trying to make up for their argument?

The door closed and the room fell silent, much too silent as there were 12 people inside. Only their breaths could be heard.

“We have a new, special guest,” the woman standing in the middle said.

He hadn’t noticed her before, how did she walk right in the center of them without a sound?

“Could you tell us your name?”

“Mine?” he asked, looking at her.

She nodded, smiling, like an adult would do with a child.

“Byun Baekhyun.”

“Let’s welcome him between us. This…” she said, making a full circle, while she extended her arms in the air, “is a healing center. Here…we’re all here to heal and learn and get to know each other better.”

She wasn’t dressed in a white coat like the nurses, but in a deep blue one that was tied with a cord in the middle; he thought she was well passed her 40’s, maybe in her 50’s, but he couldn’t be sure. The face was of a mature woman, and even though both she and Irene had wrinkles, Irene was still holding tightly on the last signs of youth and fertility.

“My name is Wendy. Now…Baekhyun. Can you tell us a little bit about your life before you were welcomed into our family?”

He looked back again at Irene who nodded, squeezing his shoulder. There was no doubt he had to answer. He didn’t want to face the consequences of keeping silent, even though that’s what he wanted to do. No. He wanted to lie, make a new identity, but he didn’t know how much they knew about him. Maybe everything and it was all a game.

Test how honest they all were.

“I studied universal literature at university and I almost finished my Master’s degree in it. I wanted to work at a publishing house,” he said.

Nothing too personal, something he would be ashamed to share. That was out in the world, so repeating it out loud wouldn’t do any harm.

“So you love reading books,” Wendy said.

“Yes.”

“Tell us something else.”

She stepped towards him, and that’s when he noticed that she wasn’t as thin as he had imagined. Not fat either, but carrying the weight around her middle.

“I…my parents were high-school teachers. My father was teaching math and my mother history.”

Another squeeze from Irene. He wasn’t sure whether it was good or not.

“Good,” Wendy said, smiling again. “Here…we have no secrets one from each other. You must trust your nurses, because they are the ones bringing you the healing from your past, sinful lives.”

Baekhyun’s fingers grabbed at the edge of his seat, trying not to move.

“You have complete freedom here. The reign of terror is over and none of you are simple objects anymore. You are human beings, with feelings and emotions that you must learn to accept and control.”

Wendy stopped from pacing, looking at each one of them for a couple of seconds before she sighed. One deep sigh, leaving the pits of her big chest.

“Let’s all close our eyes and breathe. Try to meditate upon our feelings today. Why did we feel the way we did. Don’t succumb to other thoughts. Simply controls the ones you have, mold them as you wish.”

Baekhyun watched them all close their eyes at the same time, Wendy with them. Behind him, Irene did the same thing. He didn’t want to close them so he remained watching them all.

 

“Hey…are you okay?” Irene asked, sitting on the bed. “I know first meetings are a little weird.”

“Just a little weird?” he huffed. “For fuck’s sake, that seemed like a cult’s meeting, not just a meeting. Who are you, people? This is not freedom,” Baekhyun continued, standing up. “I am kept in a fucking prison, with a fucking guardian following my pathetic ass everywhere I go. Do you want to see my shit too? Huh?!”

“Calm down…” Irene whispered.

“Calm down?” he laughed, rubbing his chin. “She talked about freedom? What freedom? Is this freedom to you? Being kept in a 5 square meter room with the occasional walk through the garden?”

“Baekhyun…”

“Just tell me…why am I here for? At least tell me so I don’t feel so stupid.”

“It’s…it’s complicated,” she sighed. “We are trying to do something good.”

“What good? Fix us for what? What is to be fixed? Tell me!!” he yelled.

“Baekhyun…we are not bad people. I am not trying to harm you.”

“Of course not,” he laughed again.

“You have to understand…the world is not the same way you’ve known it. Everything’s changed.”

“Get out of my room.”

“Baek…”

“Get out of my room now until I’ll do something that I might regret. Please…” he whispered, sitting down on the bed.

“Baek…” she said, touching the back of his neck. “I know you are upset and frustrated, I would be too. But I am trying to help you…you just need to trust me a little.”

“I’m done trusting people.”

“Hey…” she whispered, brushing her thumb up and down the column of his neck.

Baekhyun closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her skin against his own. They stayed like that, without talking, while her finger kept moving up and down.

“Feeling better?” Irene asked.

“Yeah…”

“Okay, …you can talk to me. I won’t run to tell anybody what you choose to share with me.”

“Why?” he asked, glancing back at her.

Irene shrugged. “I like you.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you…I’ve lost my only child, I know what suffering means. I’ve lost my husband. Now you are the only person that I am attached to. It’s…” she sighed, shutting her eyes close. “I just don’t want to lose somebody else.”

“Okay…” he whispered. “Then you won’t lose me.”

 

Kyungsoo.

He was the only thing that he could think about for a while. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t good, he knew it in the back of his head. But he kept pushing those thoughts further and further away until they were no more than a whisper, a mosquito buzzing above your head.

Kyungsoo and cigarettes, the smell of warm skin in the sunlight, slowly tanning behind those bars.

He loved the nights the most, when it was all quiet on the hallways, no movement. The door to his room would open, and Baekhyun would step outside, walk to his room, push down on the knob and enter.

“Hey…”

“Been waiting for you…” Kyungsoo said.

“Why are you staying in the dark?”

“It’s nicer. Sit.”

They had already built a routine; he would sit on the bed, next to him. Kyungsoo pulling a pack of cigarettes that was sandwiched between the mattress and the bed frame; take the pink lighter. Place a cigarette between his lips and then between Baekhyun’s, then light them.

The window was always wide open.

“Tomorrow I’ll be discharged,” Kyungsoo said.

“So soon?”

“I’ve been in this hospital for 2 weeks. I think I had enough,” he laughed.

Baekhyun swallowed, trying not to let the mosquito bite him; only buzz above his head. Where was Chanyeol? What was happening? Why didn’t he care anymore?

“I don’t think I’ll leave this hospital anytime soon,” Baekhyun said.

Kyungsoo hummed, turning on his side. What was he thinking about?

“I don’t think either…”

He brushed a couple of hair strands away from his face, pushing them behind the ears. Baekhyun closed his eyes, waiting. Waiting for what?

The kiss came, soon enough, longer than the ones they had shared before. Kyungsoo took the cigarette away from his hand and placed it on the small plate that was on the night stand.

“Come here…” he said, pulling him closer to his body.

“I…I have a boyfriend. Or I used to have if he’s not dead somewhere in a ditch,” Baekhyun said.

“I know…”

“How?”

“I’ve seen your chart…and the two of you, when you came into the hospital, on the first day. I…know. Park Chanyeol.”

“Do you know if he’s still alive?”

Kyungsoo sighed, shaking his head.

“A nurse told me they killed all the former members of the Commission, except for a few.”

“Fuck…” Baekhyun whispered, pressing his face into the pillow. “Fuck, he’s dead.”

“Hey…calm down. He might not be…”

“I’d rather have him dead than a part of…these people.”

Kyungsoo sighed.

“I’m not good at…consoling people so…if you need to cry, just cry. Or whatever you want to do, just don’t shout.”

“I think I should go to my room.”

“Tomorrow I’m leaving,” Kyungsoo said. “God knows when we’ll see each other again. At least sleep here tonight.”

“Do you actually care about me?”

“Baek…”

“Just say yes or no. It’s easy. Everything is simple for you. Tomorrow you go back home and I’ll be stuck her for God knows how long to be…what? An organ plantation until they run out of organs? You got yours. Now let’s auction. Who wants a piece of my lung? Huh?!”

“Baek…I’ll come to visit. I promise. Weekly. I’ll bring you cigarettes and chocolate,” Kyungsoo said.

“You won’t.”

“Baek…”

“What are you? Who are you once you’ll be out of here?”

“Just a guy like any other guy.”

“Tell me…please.”

“I’m the CFO of a company here…but it doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything,” Baekhyun said, trying to stand up.

But Kyungsoo grabbed him by both arms and pushed him back on the bed.

“Stay…please. Just stay. If I can, I’ll try to get you out. I will.”

“You won’t.”

“Baek…” Kyungsoo shook his head. “Do you think this is easy for me too? Meeting you here? Do you think I feel less like a prisoner?! It’s the same shit.”

“I don’t want to be here alone…I don’t.” Baekhyun said, sitting like that on the bed.

He stared at the ceiling and then through the window, at the bars they had managed to pull out nights before.

“I’ll visit you…” Kyungsoo said. “I promise.”

“Chanyeol promised that too but that he’s probably…dead.”

“Shhh…”

Kyungsoo breathed in deeply, wrapping both arms around Baekhyun’s body. He leaned over his shoulder, moving them from one side to the other.

“I’m scared…” Baekhyun said.

“I know. Me too.”

 

Baekhyun woke up in the middle of the night, sweating. He looked at the other side of the bed. Empty. But the indents of a body remained pressed into it.

“Hey…”

He saw Kyungsoo’s shape at the open window, with the smoke slowly trailing outside, into the black air.

“Hey…I couldn’t sleep.”

Baekhyun stood up, bracing his body with both hands; he took a cigarette from the open pack and placed it between his lips. The taste, the smell, everything was already beginning to remind him of Kyungsoo.

Their bodies touched when he took the spot at the window, elbows on the cold sill, watching a car passing on the road parallel to them. No need for talking. Kyungsoo looked at him, smiling, and pressed his forehead over his temple. They stayed like that, listening to their own breathing leaving their chests and filling instead with the minty smoke.

He coughed. Once.

Baekhyun pushed his tongue in his cheek, feeling the raises in the flesh, where it had been bitten and then healed. A thin line all across it, ending at the corner of his mouth. There was no moon on the sky, no stars; maybe there were clouds, but it was so dark that he couldn’t see anything but that. No more movement on the road, no people on the sidewalks. The light coming from the lamps was flickering, stopping from time to time. Then you couldn’t see anything.

Kyungsoo sighed.

He wanted to say something, anything, but he didn’t know what because nothing seemed fit in that moment. So saying nothing seemed fit after all. He wanted to indulge in the moment, remember every second of it. The way Kyungsoo’s skin felt on his, his smell, tobacco and sweat mixed together, the light falling over his face. Maybe he wouldn’t have the privilege to see him again as he didn’t have with Chanyeol. He should have paid more attention to him, to the way he felt. But he took him and everything for granted.

Kyungsoo pressed the cigarette butt on the sill, watching the ash crumble down. He blew it in the air, throwing the remaining out, to fall on the grass.

They kissed, letting their lips linger, just dwell in the warmth and softness. The floor creaked and they hear a door being shut somewhere above their heads. He could feel his heart beating a little faster.

Were there any night patrols, checking the rooms?

“Maybe I should go back…” he whispered.

“We aren’t doing anything wrong,” Kyungsoo said.

But why did it feel like that, then?

They sat down in bed, both staring at the ceiling, at the way the light was playing between the cracks and lines in it; fingers intertwined on the white sheets.

 

The ventilator was turned on in the circular room. Past 35 degrees Celsius. Sweat was trickling down his temples, through his hairline, onto his neck and back, underneath his shirt.

“This weather is horrible,” Irene said, sitting down next to him.

“Yeah…” he laughed.

“Yeah…uhm, we could go for a walk after the group meeting.”

“Okay, sounds nice. Maybe it’ll cool down a little.”

“Maybe…”

They sat in the same circle again, on the same chair, with the same woman dressed in the same blue coat. It was somebody else’s turn to talk about his former life, one left behind and replaced by a sin-free, purposeful one. Baekhyun wasn’t sure what their purpose was because Wendy was only talking about great things, good things, about the past and future, but mostly future. But never about what they would have to do.

He was certain they were there for a reason, obliged to participate in those stupid, corny meeting for a different purpose. Sometimes, it was making him laugh, all of it.

As if Irene would sense it, her hand would rest on the nape of his neck, brushing fingers against the skin. Sometimes, she would go as far as trailing them through his hair, scratching his scalp with her red fingernails.

It felt good, he couldn’t lie. Having someone so close to him after so long felt good. Reassuring. Maybe he was lying to himself, maybe Irene had another purpose too, but for the time being, he couldn’t care less. Whether they were both taking advantage of each other, he had yet to regret it.

He liked their walks through the garden, just the two of them after the meetings. The same bench, next to the rose bush.

“I might get a tan,” he laughed.

“Me too…”

“Here,” Baekhyun said, picking a rose.

He placed it behind her ear, hanging by the stem. Irene smiled, he thought she almost looked younger, bashful; rosy in the cheeks.

“It suits you.”

“Thank you…” she said, looking down. “How are you feeling? You’ve been here for quite a while…”

Baekhyun hummed, glancing up, at the sky. It was cloudless.

“I think I like it here…”

“It’s peaceful and calm. Makes you feel better about everything.”

“Makes you forget about everything that doesn’t exist in here…”

“Are you upset about that?” Irene asked.

“No…”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Do you miss your child and husband?”

“Sometimes, yes. But then I think that they are better where they are right now. Being alive and suffering it’s not worth it…” she said, holding the knees at her chest.

The skin on her legs was almost as white as the coat, bony knees, and bony fingers, tight together. He sighed, trying to make out the winding blue veins underneath the skin, the places where the vessels had broken.

 

He traced the contours of his face, from his nose down to his chin. The sun was reflected in the window, falling over the sheets in one big patch. It looked like a stain. He wanted it to disappear and be dark again. He felt safer that way.

“Hey…morning…” Kyungsoo whispered.

“Morning…”

“Are you staring at me?”

He nodded, kissing both of his cheeks.

“I want to be able to remember your face when I close my eyes at night.”

Kyungsoo smiled, kissing him on the lips. “You won’t have to do that. I’ll come visit.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Pinkie promise,” he said, bringing the finger to his lips.

Baekhyun smiled. He didn’t want it to end because even with all the promises and high hopes, he knew it was all over the moment Kyungsoo would walk out of the hospital.

 

He watched him leave from his window; Kyungsoo stopped for a couple of seconds on the sidewalk, between the acacia trees, waving at him. He was smiling and Baekhyun wanted to remember that.

There was a car, somewhere further away, parked between two lightning poles, filling the space just right; black with smoky glasses, the car of a rich person. Chanyeol had used to have one just the same, maybe a different brand, but he didn’t care about car brands or clothes brands or anything.

The door opened, a driver dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, and Kyungsoo looked at his window one last time before the door closed shut and the car slid across the road. It was gone.

Baekhyun felt alone. Utterly alone. He glided his finger across the glass, down, until it reached the wooden frame, dusty. It fit well between the vertical bars. Were they afraid that they would jump from the window? Or escape, the same way they had done to buy cigarettes from the corner shop.

Maybe he could just run at night. But where would he go?

Baekhyun sighed, leaving the window.

A nurse knocked at the door, privacy, he laughed.

“Here, lunch,” she said.

The woman placed the tray on the nightstand, there was no table where to eat it.

“Thanks…can I ask you something?”

“Sure…” she shrugged.

“How much will I stay here?”

He knew the answer already: there would be no answer, because all of them knew it. None of them will leave, of course not.

“They haven’t told us. But I think someone will come to see you today, sign some papers.”

Of course, he smiled. They were still civilized, asking for signatures. He ate the food, slower than usual, chewing each bite of bread or fruit many times, many as much as it said in nutritional articles.

The nurse came back, 30 minutes later to take back the tray; there were no knives, only plastic utensils.

“The doctor is waiting outside,” she said.

Baekhyun nodded.

“Hello, how are you feeling?” the man, Doctor Kim, asked, smiling.

“Good. Fine.”

“Good. I have here some papers for you…read them carefully and then sign,” he said, sitting down on the bed next to him.

He smelled nice; expensive cologne, maybe. It was fresh, like pine trees and the seaside, mingling together, somewhere on a shore that had the sand and the mountains.

Baekhyun turned the pages around but his eyes couldn’t focus on the letters; they were mixing together, creating other shapes, twisting snakes and garlands. He squeezed his eyes, bringing the pages closer to his face.

Maybe they were drugging them, putting it in the food to make them docile, imbeciles. Maybe…

“Where should I sign?” he asked.

There was no point in asking more questions, opposing, not signing. Then there would come pain and forced decisions. It was a decision, but not so forced. He still had options. Sign or not sign, then face the consequences.

“Last page, on the bottom.”

Maybe there was only gibberish on the pages, it didn’t even matter what was written.

“Good boy,” the doctor smiled, patting his back.

Baekhyun smiled, it seemed funny for the moment.

“You are to be transferred to the “Saint Nicholas” center that has just opened.”

Baekhyun nodded. The words didn’t really make much sense. He closed his eyes, swaying his body from one side to the other. Maybe they were really drugging them. He didn’t really care.

 

Irene brought him a book one day. Placed it on the night table, without a word, but smiling; she sat down next to him.

“To fill the time,” she said. “I took a wild guess. Orson Scott Card.”

“I like it,” he smiled. “Haven’t read it in…actually, I haven’t read in years.”

“I know. I want you to feel at home. When you finish it, ask for another one. Whatever you want.”

“Okay, thanks…” he said, taking the book and weighting it in his hands.

It felt good, heavy but not quite; the cardboard edges, the dusty pages with darker brown stains on them. A used book. Maybe a well loved one. He wondered where it had been taken from. A library? Someone’s house?

He opened it to the first page. There was nothing written on it, white space.

The first chapter.

He brought it to his nose, inhaling the scent of dust and old pages. The smell of life, of dozens of fingers that had touched it, turned each page, sat down on a chair or an armchair or a bed, with the light on, reading until dawn would crack.

Or not.

Irene was gone. He was glad for that.

Baekhyun shifted on the bed, placing the two pillows behind his back and started reading, indulging doing as slowly as possible, rereading lines, touching the letters with the tips of his fingers. They were no longer mingling in his head, turning into snakes and wraths. Just letters.

 

He didn’t know where the center was, where the car was bringing him. It could be anywhere. He closed his eyes so that the spinning would stop. Was it the same day? Was it a different one?

The car stopped, or did it not?

Someone grabbed him by both arms, dragged him outside the car. There was a pathway, there were flowers and trees and people talking. But it was all through a fog, nothing made sense.

Only shadows, not concrete shapes. Was he a shadow too?

 

Days were passing but he wasn’t sure how. They were a blur with nothing to differentiate one from another. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t care less that everything his life that was revolving around waking up eating, sleeping, eating and then doing everything all over again without an end. When was there going to be an end?!

But he didn’t care, he could feel the time slip between his fingers, between the check-ups done by huge, noisy machines. But those were few, so most of the days were quiet. Were they days or simply hours, too many hours?

He could remember signing some papers, but what were they about?

“Hey…Baek…hey…”

He blinked, trying to focus on the person in front of him.

“Baek…hey, it’s me, Kyungsoo. Your…friend, from the hospital?”

Baekhyun moved his head from one side to the other, squeezing his eyes. He couldn’t remember his face, but the voice, that voice he could. And the scent, a tinge of cigarettes and sweat.

“Hey…what did they do to you?” he whispered. ”Hey…”

Kyungsoo touched his hands, squeezing them.

“What did they do to you?”

He wanted to answer, say something, squeeze his hand back and hug him, but he couldn’t. No words were forming in his heads, no sentences. What were those? There was fog, so much of it, floating through the air, before his eyes. It was eating Kyungsoo whole.

“Your visit time is over.”

“I’ve been here for 3 minutes. For fuck’s sake, let me be.”

“I’m sorry sir, the patient is not feeling well.”

“Of course he’s not feeling well when you drug him like some sort of animal. He’s human.”

And afterwards, Baekhyun wasn’t sure what happened. His vision blurred even more, to the point where he could only see colored dots and stars before his eyes. He fell down on the bed, staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide open. There were noises, maybe shouts, he was certain of it, but they were so far away from him, in a different dimension.

He was there, and between him and the rest of the world there was a big glass wall.

 

“I have a question. Or more…a request,” Baekhyun said, sitting down in Irene’s study.

She, as all of the nurses, had a small, rectangular room, with a table, sofa and a cupboard for books and nick-nacks. Irene’s was painted in a pale yellow, maybe all of them were, he wasn’t sure and didn’t ask.

“Sure,” she smiled, closing the book. “What is it?”

He would have liked to sit down, but there was only one chair in the entire room and she was sitting on it.

“I was curious about this friend…whether he is still alive or not.”

“What’s that friend’s name?”

Baekhyun looked out of the window; this one had bars too, thicker ones that seemed to be there for forever.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve changed my mind.”

“Baek…you can tell me.”

“It’s alright, I don’t want to know after all.”

“What made you change your mind?” she asked.

He shrugged, turning around on the heels of his shoes.

“Baek…if you are afraid that we’d do anything to that person, you shouldn’t. We aren’t bad people. I am not…bad.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to know. It’s better this way,” he said and left the room.

Baekhyun wanted to walk through the gardens, watch the ducks on the lake; feel the wind on his skin, the sun rays. He wanted to run away.

Where? He wasn’t sure, he didn’t care. It didn’t really matter.

“Baek…” Irene said, opening the door. “I don’t us to be like this…”

“Us?”

“Yes. We are a team.”

“A team for what? What? Can you explain why you are keeping me here when I’m healthy?”

“Physically yes, but not mentally. Spiritually you are still wounded, you need time to heal.”

“Bullshit.”

“Baek…”

“Stop fucking calling me Baek, okay?! I am not your Baek, I am nobody’s Baek. I am tired of people lying and bullshitting me just for the sake of it. I am done. Nobody asked me ever whether I wanted all of this, to be dragged into this shit that I know nothing about because I have almost no recollection of what the fuck happened to me during those 3 years. And now I wake up here, with some freaks gathering in a circle to talk about…what? What exactly?”

“I’m sorry…” she whispered. “I really am, but I’m not like the other people in your former life. I won’t leave you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Listen to me,” Irene whispered, grabbing both of his wrists. “Do you want to survive?”

Baekhyun remained quiet.

“Answer me!”

“Yes!”

“Good. Then you have to do as I tell you. Got me? If you want to survive you don’t ask questions about anything happening here. You don’t. Got me? If you want both of us to survive, we must play by their rules.”

“Fuck their rules.”

“Listen to me…” she said, shaking him. “Just trust me. I want to help you.”

“Help me? Or help you?”

“Help both of us. Both. I don’t have such a big wish to die right now and I suppose you don’t either. So you play by their rules. You do as I tell you,” Irene said. “Got me?”

Baekhyun breathed out, closing his eyes.

“Got me?”

“Yes.”

 

The second donation. He wasn’t sure when that had happened, but he could still remember the mask placed on his face, the operation table, the bright lights above his head and the tangy, chlorine smell coming from every orifice. Even the pain afterwards, or the days, or maybe there were weeks, no months. He couldn’t count them. Wasn’t sure.

It was a lot of bed time and tasteless soups; colored water. He didn’t care. There was all a blur. No one was talking to him, but he wasn’t keen on starting a conversation. After a point, he wasn’t sure how one was supposed to do that. Form sentences, choose words.

Words…

 

Irene was mad. He knew that, he could sense it from the way her brows would furrow, and her front teeth would start chewing at her bottom lip until it would start bleeding. It was those little things that made him feel certain. She had feelings too. Maybe she was scared, frustrated, annoyed. But to some extent, she cared. Maybe not about him, or his reduced conditions, or anything that he was blubbering just for the sake of it during those meetings.

At least she cared about her well-being. Conservation instinct. He had it too but wondered for what use. They were both trapped in there, different conditions, but reduced nonetheless.

There was no garden time without her. No new books or talk. Nobody else at the center was willing to start a conversation or even look at him. After the meetings were over, the chairs were being pushed to the sides, at equal distance one from another. But all done in silence, watched by the nurses and Wendy.

Arms behind her back, looking at each and one of them. Analyzing them. Sometimes she would raise an eyebrow or the corner of her mouth would lift. New wrinkles would appear then.

Small things like that he could collect, gather from each and every one of them. They all had feelings, they were all in desperate need of something. Being it called love, safety or anything else.

What did Wendy want?

No.

What did Irene want?

The rest of the people, dressed exactly like him, walking just like him, were not harboring any expressions; blank faces, veiny eyes, dry hair and hands. That wasn’t making him want to stir a conversation.

Their appearance was repulsive, so he wondered: how did he look? There were no mirrors, maybe in fear that they could be broken, shattered into pieces that could be used for other things. Cutting things, slicing them open, letting all the juices run free between their fingers, slipping, sliding, dripping on the floor, on the skin, staining the coats.

But Irene’s hands were soft, soft palms, red nails, taken care of. Her face was pale, smooth if you didn’t consider the fine lines. The thought of touching her wasn’t repulsive.

Baekhyun shivered when he felt the eyes of a middle aged man with a huge belly on him. What was he doing in there? A donor too?

How could he?

He felt bad for the thoughts, but he let them flow freely. He had missed them.

“Hey…do you want to go for a walk?” Irene asked.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. Maybe a sign, a reassurance, maybe nothing. It was warm, her nails digging into the skin.

It reminded him of other times, other feelings. Better ones, more carnal.

“Sure.”

“I like this garden. Really.”

“Me too. It’s nice.”

They were walking side by side. She smelled nice, like roses.

“Have you seen the outside world? Recently, I mean.”

“2 years ago, before this center was opened. Yes.”

He didn’t say anything, didn’t know what to, actually.

“Uhm…this is stupid,” he laughed.

“Tell me.”

He heard the sound of a car engine, he was sure of that. Reaching the gates of the center and then stopping.

“What is that?”

“A car.”

They both watched between the bushes and trees the way the gates opened and the black vehicle passing between them, unbothered. If he ran, or if he were closer, he could have slipped between the gates, into the street. And afterwards?

The gates closed and the car continued on the pathway until it reached the entrance. The door on the driver’s side opened. It was a man that he thought that he had seen before. If he kept looking at him, his features were becoming more and more familiar.

“I think I know him…” Baekhyun whispered.

The man looked in their direction. On that side, the bushes weren’t tall enough, covering only half of their bodies; the other half was in plain sight.

“Baekhyun!” the man said, walking towards him.

He took a step back, on the pathway, looking at the person striding in his direction.

“Baekhyun…hey, it’s me. Chanyeol.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head.

Memories were appearing like ghost into his head; translucent, only fragments that were hanging and brushing against the sides of his brain. But they were there. Chanyeol was there, towering over him so that his shadow was covering his face. He blocked the sun.

“Baek…oh my god,” he said, wrapping both arms around him.

Baekhyun didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything. There was no use in trying to push him away, detach his long, octopus like members from his skin. Maybe it was called being catatonic, he thought, but he wasn’t sure. It sounded right. He was catatonic. Standing there, with those slimy arms covering his every inch of skin; chest pressed against chest and he wondered: how could he have loved someone like that?

There were words floating through his mind, unrelated to each other, thoughts quarreling for dominance. Why wasn’t Chanyeol letting him go?

“Baek…” he said one more time, taking a step back.

“You should keep your distance, sir,” Irene said, but the words were coming through a fog, far away from him.

Another time, long time ago, he would have been ravenous at the thought of Chanyeol coming back to rescue him. It sounded funny; to rescue him. There was no rescuing needed to be done. He was fine, just fine. His limited conditions were bearable, he got to enjoy his conditions.

“Baek…you can’t even imagine for how long I’ve been searching for you. And then I found out about this center,” he said, looking around, “and I came to see. To see for myself, maybe there was a chance that you would be here. And you are, I was right.”

Irene placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. Their signal. They could go if he wanted. He wanted, but his legs, his arms, his body weren’t listening to him. The earth had just wrapped its tentacles around the soles of his shoes, his ankles, keeping him in place; unmoving.

“I want to take you home.”

Home?

Baekhyun laughed, uncontrollably until he felt his jaw hurt, but he couldn’t stop. The laugh was bubbling and bubbling in his chest, and if he wasn’t letting it all go, he thought his whole body would break apart. Another being was taking control over him. It was that laughter.

“What’s wrong?” Chanyeol asked.

“Sir, I’m afraid we have to go. My patient is not feeling well this very moment,” Irene said.

“Hey, I’m his boyfriend, do you hear me, boyfriend,” Chanyeol said. “I’m taking him home.”

“I’m sorry sir, but you need to talk to the management board.”

Baekhyun laughed again. Management board, what a funny word. Everything seemed funny. Chanyeol’s furrowed brows, they made him look so ugly, his tic of cracking his knuckles, the rhythmic tapping of the left foot.

He could remember everything, coming back from a past life.

“I want to go inside,” Baekhyun said.

“Baek…don’t do this, please,” Chanyeol said, trying to take hold of his hands, but Irene pushed him forward, helping him walk back to the building. “I’m going to sue you! Do you even know who I am?”

“No. But I don’t care…” Irene whispered.

 

He didn’t know how much time had passed between his second and third donation. Maybe a lot, maybe not at all. They weren’t asking him about them. In the morning he would just wake up with a nurse standing by his side, with no expression on her face.

There would be no talking, but by then, he knew what it was all about. The operation table, the gas mask, the doctors and lights surrounding him, staring at him.

Mornings were the clearest for him; that’s when he could form coherent thoughts, he could see people’s faces not through a fog, but just the way they were. Usually tired, sallow, with a tinge of grey or yellow to them. Jaundice maybe. Maybe just the food and lack of sleep.

His sleep was fine, deep, without any dreams. Then the morning was too bright, crisp and clear. But the afternoon and night were coming, blurry and foggy; he got to like them, enjoy that feeling. Was it a feeling after all?

It was his third donation, anyway.

The next day, or was it the same, a man came to see him. He looked familiar, or at least his voice. His smell, cigarettes and sweat. He loved them; was breathing them in deeper, making them last while he could. The least breath of them was the most painful.

“Hey…I can’t do anything about it. You’ve signed the papers, so you are trapped. We can only hope that something will happen. A riot,” the man whispered.

He was always whispering, standing very close to him. There were never touches, which he was glad for. Just the scent, close to him. Comforting. Reminded him of different feelings, less blurry, but vibrant.

A kiss…maybe a kiss, even.

“But I’ll come see you when I can. When they let me. Don’t worry, nothing bad will happen to you,” the man whispered again.

There was silence for a while, the sound of his breathing. A cough.

“I should have run away with you that night. I’m sorry.”

Then he was gone.

 

“Do you know that man?” Irene asked when the wooden doors of the building closed behind them.

Safety.

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

“Chanyeol.”

“Was he with you at the hospital?”

Baekhyun shook his head.

“Hey…talk to me. This could be bad. Can be bad for both of us if he does or says something he shouldn’t. Hear me?”

He nodded.

6 months had passed, and he was still not sure what the whole point of the center was. What was in fact going on?

“Do you want to leave with him?” she asked, looking at him.

He looked at her face, the wrinkles more prominent, deeper cutting into the skin. She looked older; as if life had just washed over her, like the waves on the shore, bringing with them dead matters, emptied shells; dead algae.

Baekhyun shrugged.

“Please answer me.”

“No. I don’t know. I don’t know him…not anymore.”

“Good.”

Was she in love with him? Did she need him for her own comfort, her own deserted life, or was it only political, business, he was a piece of the center. A pawn, something she needed in order to keep her job.

He didn’t know. But he wished it were the first two choices.

Love…how funny.

“Why?”

“They won’t let you leave, not like this.”

“You don’t want to tell me what this place is. Is it worse than the center I was kept for 3 years?” Baekhyun asked.

They were still standing in the entrance hallway.

“Baek…”

Her fingers were brushing down on his arm, then up, then down again. What did that mean?

“Please…tell me…”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

So it wasn’t love? Just her survival instincts. She was depended on him as he was on her.

Or was it?

 

Then, out of the blue, he found himself standing in darkness, a dark room. So much pain.

“Fuck…”

Nothing was blurry anymore, but crisp, like shards of glass breaking and falling down, all over his body. But the crispness was short lived, because then his vision blurred, the pain returned and everything was swirling in shades of red and purple before his eyes.

There were voices.

Why didn’t they shut up?!

He groaned, all his body aching.

 

Baekhyun was counting the seconds in his head; not the seconds, because sometimes the intervals were longer and other times shorter. Sometimes he was repeating numbers and sometimes forgetting others. It had been 400 seconds, intervals since Irene had left the room.

There were no noises around. Nothing. It was the middle of the day, the window was wide open, letting the sun rays glide inside. But he couldn’t hear any birds or the buzz of the traffic.

He sighed, falling back on the pillows. Sleep was prying on him, ready to jump at any time. The door opened.

“I talked to Wendy,” Irene said, closing the door.

“And?”

“They want to see you. Your boyfriend is in fact someone important, he didn’t lie.”

Baekhyun smiled. Of course he was. He felt embarrassed that he had even thought for a moment that Chanyeol could be dead, when he was Chanyeol, and he had always found a way to reach the light. Get out of the thickest and deepest of shits.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he said. “So don’t call him that.”

“He seemed pretty sure of that,” she shrugged, leaning on the door frame.

Baekhyun sighed, walking towards her. He stopped, a couple of centimeters left between their bodies. Her chest was rising a little faster, maybe it was only in his head, but even her cheeks became pinker.

“I won’t leave with him.”

“You’d be better off outside. This is your chance.”

“And you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“You’ll still be trapped in here.”

“This was my choice.”

“Bullshit,” he whispered. “You know it quite well.”

“Baek…” she whispered, closing her eyes. “This is what my life is…I’ve lost everything I care about. It doesn’t matter now. There’s a roof above my head, good food and a bed, and lots of books. This is enough. You still have everything ahead of you.”

“Don’t be like this…”

“Live your life,” she said, touching the back of his hand. “Do it for you and for me…”

“Irene.”

“I will be fine. I will. I promise. Just go to Wendy’s office. Chanyeol is in there too. Just go and act nice. You need to be nice.”

 

He didn’t want to be nice about any of it; not to Wendy, not to Chanyeol, not to anybody. The thought of leaving was tempting, but alone, or at least with Irene. Not with a man he had used to know, used to sleep with so long ago that he almost had no recollection of it.

But the outside world was frightening him; he had no expectations about anything which was making it even worse.

He knocked at the door which opened almost instantly.

“Come on in, Baekhyun,” Wendy said.

She was standing at the desk in front of the window, her face covered by the shadows. Chanyeol was sitting on the dark blue couch.

“Mr. Park here had told me you two were planning on getting married before the mandatory donations started.”

They weren’t.

Baekhyun looked at him and he saw the expectant look on his face, the slight frown, the cracking of the knuckles; tapping of the foot on the hardwood floor. A lie. But why?

“Yes, we were,” he said.

“I see. We, at the Saint Nicholas center believe in the happiness of our patients, their well-being. And getting married, being close to the person you love…how can happiness be greater than that?” she said, smiling.

Baekhyun looked at Chanyeol and then back at Wendy. It all seemed like a joke.

“Do you still want to marry him?”

The answer was no. But he knew he couldn’t say that. No would have meant remaining at the center, living his life between the red brick walls.

“Yes. I love him,” he said, looking at Chanyeol.

He smiled, sighing.

“Good. Then your future husband can sign the paperwork.”

Paperwork. There had always been some paperwork; the one that brought him to the center, the one you sign when you get to university, when you get a new job, when you get married. It made him laugh. Everything was making him laugh. It was all too funny.

He could just go if he were to get married. An exchange. But why?

Chanyeol hugged him when the paperwork was done, signed, arrange in one of the grey folders.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Baekhyun wanted to step away, not feel those arms around him; the breath on the side of his face.

“Yeah, me too.”

That’s what Wendy, Chanyeol needed to hear.

“Then you can leave. May the Lord protect both of you,” Wendy said.

 

He woke up again in a rustle of voices, of clothes and steps.

“They are here, fuck.”

“Let him and let’s go.”

“So we saved him for nothing?”

“Yes, come on.”

“Who is this…?” Baekhyun whispered, trying to open his eyes.

“Come on…”

“I’m sorry. Really.”

He tried to say something, maybe shout after them, but he couldn’t. Any more words weren’t coming out of his mouth. It all turned black again, black and spinning until he lost consciousness.

 

“So…do you want to marry me?” Baekhyun asked once they were inside his car.

It was parked in front of the red brick building and from his spot, he could see Irene’s shape at the window on the second floor. Almost translucent, in her white uniform, standing on the wooden sill like a ghost from the past. Somehow, she seemed so far away, lost in a different dimension that he was about to exit.

Chanyeol laughed, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

“I needed to say it so that Wendy would let me take you out. Marriage is sacred for them.”

“So you don’t.”

“I…I wanted to propose to you before everything happened, but I haven’t come around. Things were too hectic.”

“Of course,” Baekhyun said.

The car was backing away, towards the gates that automatically opened for them. He waved, certain that he couldn’t see it, but he still did it until they were on the street. There were no goodbyes, no last hugs or words. He just left, without seeing her one last time. It didn’t matter anyway. She was just a caretaker, employed to watch over him; there were no feelings, only the survival instinct.

But it felt strange, unnatural, leaving with Chanyeol. He was more of a stranger than Irene had ended up being. She was familiarity, not Chanyeol. He was unknown, fright and new beginnings that he wasn’t sure that he wanted.

“We could get married.”

Baekhyun laughed. It seemed funny, those words in that context. Marriage.

“I cheated on you.”

Chanyeol didn’t say anything, only looking ahead at the road.

“Aren’t you going to ask me when and with who?”

“It doesn’t matter. This is a new beginning.”

Of course. He smiled, looking out, through the window.

“So you don’t care. I care. I fell in love with that person,” he said.

“Who was it?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s probably dead by now.”

There weren’t many memories left of him, or many left in general about his former life; they were all combining, mixing together; forming one big chunk of time. Sometimes, there would be clear images, faces of people laughing or crying, but it would then all be swallowed by the perpetual blurriness of his mind. He knew who Chanyeol was, but the memories were so faded that he was nothing more than a stranger.

“Do you want to search for him?” Chanyeol asked.

“No,” he shook his head.

It didn’t matter; there were no feelings anymore, if there were in the first place. He was out of the center, back into the normal world.

It didn’t look any different than he had known it. The same people, same stores, same expressions.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Tell me what happened…after you left me at the hospital that day for the donation. What is going on now?”

Chanyeol looked at him, sighing.

“A lot of crap. Good and bad.”

“And yet you are alive. Pretty well-off if I can say that.”

“I…that day I went with Jongdae to the Commission, like usual. We were glad the law was passed, things were moving into the right direction.”

There was a break in his monologue; Baekhyun looked at a woman carrying a baby in a harness, at her full chest. The baby was quite ugly, bald and pink. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. He didn’t like babies and all of them looked like some bright pink aliens. Raisins. That made him laugh.

Why did he expect everything to look different?

“But when we got to the Commission, something was off. We saw some of the signs before. There were new coalitions, pro free unlimited donations. Pro-life and bullshit like that. Of course, with the accord of all involved. They were growing a following, especially on social media, you know. But we thought we had it all under control. Our coalition was the strongest. Until it wasn’t,” Chanyeol said, sighing.

The car stopped at a semaphore.

“And then?”

“A terrorist attack. Of course it wasn’t. Everything was planned by them. All, from start to end. We weren’t in the building when that happened, but they were quick. They took all the power, as a security measure. Keep the population safe. Hunt down the terrorists. We were given two choices: be considered criminals, partnered with the terrorists or team up with them. Of course we chose the second option. We didn’t have a choice.”

Baekhyun laughed.

“And after that?”

“Then…they hunt down the terrorists, do some very quick trials, give them a life sentence. And they came forward with new laws. Everything was legal. All the donors had a choice, in theory. But you were all drugged, unable to make conscious decisions so everyone kept in the hospital for the mandatory donations signed the paper for unlimited donations.”

“Until death?” Baekhyun asked.

“It was not on paper…but yes.”

“And people were okay with that? You were okay with that?”

“Baek…I had no saying power. I was their puppet.”

“Of course. No fucking choice, right, when you aren’t the one to die for their brilliant ideas.”

“Anyway,” he sighed, “that’s been happening for 3 years until people started rioting. You couldn’t have seen that.”

“No, because I was all drugged up like a fucking junkie, of course not.”

“Baek…”

“Go on…please.”

“People started rioting. Jongdae, I and some other were having secret meetings. And at some point, it just happened. We did the same scheme as them, took over the Commission, implemented new laws. Got rid of the old ones.”

“And what’s with the centers as the one I was at?”

“They are for healing the victims of the donations. Getting you back on track. They have their own autonomy. It’s great. I think it helped you, didn’t it?”

“Yes, of course it helped.”

His fingers were fidgeting with the hem of his white shirt; he didn’t even have time to change. Maybe he didn’t even care anymore. No, he was lying. Of course he did, but he couldn’t look at Chanyeol for long. Then, his eyes would hurt like an adverse reaction and then he would just want to punch something. Even punch him, on and on.

“I’m glad. Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“We could go first somewhere, to eat.”

He remember that Chanyeol had never used to cook; take out after take out, or expensive restaurant dinners, lobster or shrimp with sweet or spicy sauces. His stomach grumbled. Some shrimp sounded great. Heck, amazing, with some grilled potatoes on the side and some red, wine.

“What do you think about shrimp?”

“Oh, alright. I haven’t eaten that in a while.”

Baekhyun laughed again because their “a while” was so different; a while didn’t mean much to him, it was just an expression, a thing people usually say. I haven’t been to the hairdresser in a while; I haven’t had sex in a while.

He laughed again.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing.”

There was nothing funny about it, but he didn’t know how else to react. So he made it all funny. For a while.

“Have you thought about me?” Baekhyun asked.

“Of course, babe.”

Babe, another funny word.

Unnatural, it didn’t fit with the car or his deep blue suit. He didn’t laugh, staring at an old woman walking with a cane on the sidewalk. Maybe her husband was calling her babe, or used to; or maybe her husband had only been calling babe the younger girls he had used to hook up until his dick stopped working.

Chanyeol touched his leg, spraying his fingers over the knee, squeezing the clothed skin.

“Babe…” Baekhyun said.

“Yes.”

“Is the place far? I’m starving.”

Chanyeol smiled, squeezing the knee again. He tried to look for longer at him, but couldn’t. Baekhyun felt disgusted with himself. Even guilty.

“Uhm…do you happen to have a cigarette?”

“Since when do you smoke?” Chanyeol laughed, looking at him.

“For a while now.”

“We can stop and buy some but-“

“Thanks.”

He breathed in the smoke of the cigarette-menthol ones, Dunhill, in the blue packaging, and thought about Kyungsoo. It was involuntarily. He didn’t mean to, but here he was, inside his head. The shape was blurry, inexistent. But the words were there, his slight sarcasm, the laugh and those kisses; soft kisses, nothing more. It had never been anything more than that; while he had been at the center, at night, he would have fantasized about all the ‘ifs’ and ‘whens’ of their relationship.

“Why do you like it?” Chanyeol asked.

They were sitting down on the sidewalk, shielded from one side by the car.

“It’s comforting.”

And it was the truth. The smoke brought with it memories; good, not sour, spiteful ones.

Chanyeol sighed.

“Is this because of that person that you met?”

“Yes.”

“Babe…” he said, placing a hand on his knee.

“Yes?”

“I want to see you happy.”

“But I am happy. I’m with you now,” he smiled.

All the good, decent thoughts were gone. The bad ones were back, just the snap of a couple of words that didn’t mean everything.

“I know…but I want-I want to be sure that you don’t want to be with that person anymore.”

Baekhyun smiled, crushing the cigarette butt in front of him.

“That person is most probably dead. I’m not a masochist.”

He thought that there hadn’t been any notion of love between him and Kyungsoo; it didn’t make any sense. Two people caught in two similar, but entirely different situations, finding companionship for a short period of time. Stupid, if he dwelled on it.

Catching feelings. Another funny expression.

“Maybe that person isn’t.”

“Why are you doing this?” Baekhyun asked. “Why?!”

“Baek…”

“I don’t want to see that person again. I’m finally fucking free. That’s enough for me.”

“Okay…” Chanyeol sighed again.

 

Chanyeol had kept the same apartment; minor changes added to it, nothing major. It still looked the same and felt the same. The furniture had more scratches, the couch maybe more dented, the bed screeching whenever he would sit on it.

But the smell was the same. Feelings, the same ones were caught inside, between the walls, trapped to linger and dwindle, hit the paint and make it crack in invisible crevices. Maybe if he tried hard enough he could touch those sentiments, feel them; carry them around like children that need to be fed.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Chanyeol said.

“Thank you for the shrimp and cigarettes,” Baekhyun smiled.

He stood up from the bed and walked to him, in the doorframe. There needed to be a kiss, he could sense it in the air.

He tip-toed, breathing in and closing his eyes; to Chanyeol would only mean he needed it as well. To him, that he just couldn’t see him so close to his body.

It was short. Dry.

“I love you…” Chanyeol whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

“I know. Me too.”

He wasn’t feeling sorry. But disgusted, guilty. Not at home.

He sat down again on the bed, covering his face with the pillow. If he pressed hard enough, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. But then, as an act of treason, his body would give up and the pillow would fall off his face.

So he didn’t try it.

He just sat like that, with the eyes closed, thinking about nothing. But the nothingness was taking many forms and shapes, it wasn’t all black, but scattered with bright colors. And thoughts, too many of them that he was trying to push to the back of his head.

Baekhyun swallowed. The knot wasn’t going away. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t want to move; it was there, for an indefinite amount of time.

The water stopped and after a while the door opened.

“Hey…are you asleep?”

“No.”

“You could go shower too.”

Irene had been waiting outside the bathroom door during his showers. Coming inside if he had been staying for too long, checking on him. There were many objects inside of a bathroom that he could cut the flesh, inflict harm. Swallow something, cleaning solution maybe. Chanyeol had plenty of it. In blue and bright yellow bottles, with just as colorful liquids. Inviting.

He laughed again, kneeling down on the cold tiles. It was an option. Chug a full bottle. But he didn’t like the idea of pain, the burn on his throat and mouth. He kept on laughing because the funny thing was that the meetings and the talks, all those stupid, silly talks, had had no effect on him.

After a while, he was almost expecting Chanyeol to knock at the door, ask him what in the hell he was doing in the bathroom. That moment never came, so he remained sitting on the cold tiles until his knees turned sour.

He stood up, stepping towards the shower. The water was running hot, burning his fingers; it didn’t matter. He let it spray all over, splashing the tiles and the glass separating wall, turning him red.

“Baek! I’m making something to eat!”

He was startled by the noise, slipping on the floor.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

The bathroom was filled with steam, thick, dense, making breathing more difficult. Maybe if he let the boiling water running for long enough, then…but he shook his head, thinking it was stupid. Everything was, all those ideas floating around his mind like some plankton in a sea with a big whale opening its humongous mouth to swallow them whole.

Was he the whale?

But the ideas were already inside, germinating; making roots of their own, infiltrating inside his body, cracking it.

 

“Smells good,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…haven’t eaten a pizza in so long,” Baekhyun laughed.

“We used to eat that frozen box pizza back in the day,” Chanyeol said.

The oven beeped and Chanyeol opened it, pulling the tray out with a baby-blue mitten; was it a writer who placed the head in the oven and died? He thought so, maybe he read it in a book or on some writing advice online site. The idea seemed the most painful out of all of them. Baekhyun shook his head, relieved the door of the oven closed and the beeping ended.

His head could be in there, in the yellow light, floating on one of the trays, like a roasted pig.

“Let’s eat.”

The pizza was good. It tasted like it used to, better than the boxed one, but not as good as a fancy restaurant one. He laughed. It didn’t matter. There was hot, gooey cheese on top of it, detaching in strings that were falling over his fingers.

No talking, but he preferred it. What was he supposed to chit-chat about?

“I was thinking…” Chanyeol said after a while, when more than half of the pizza was gone. “You could finish your Master’s degree.”

Baekhyun stopped mid-chew, letting the slice hang from his finger, the cheese and sauce dripping down.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Why? You’ve always been insanely talented at writing.”

“I was not,” Baekhyun whispered.

He didn’t know anymore. Back then, he had had a measure of his talent, some sort of landmark to go back to, compare and compare until he had almost felt satisfied. But that was all gone. He couldn’t even remember any of his stories, how and what he liked to write.

“Yes, you were. I still have some of your stories saved on my hard-drive. You could give them a look.”

Baekhyun laughed. Getting angry. What would Chanyeol do if he got angry and started shouting? Showing his true colors.

“Maybe later…?”

“Whenever you want, just ask me for them.”

“I…do you still have my old laptop?”

He took another bite from the slice, most of the cheese and sauce fallen on the plate in front of him.

“Yes, in a box…I’ll give it to you.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t feel thankful. Actually, he didn’t want to see his old laptop again, filled with fragments of an old self, old life. He, that Baekhyun, was segregated from the one in the present time, two separate entities, living different lives; having different dreams. In fact, he didn’t think he had a dream anymore.

 

There were no more bed-time hours, no more meetings, no more nutritious breakfasts and the walks in the park, along the rose bushes; he missed those the most.

But it was better with Chanyeol. If he didn’t look for long at him, or kiss and hug him too often, he could ignore everything. He had always been good at ignoring. Shoveling deeper and deeper to throw everything inside a hole that he would cover and then let it untouched.

That was a good thing. He needed it to survive, to not lose his mind. It was so easy to just sit down on a chair and stare and stare at the balcony railing, at the light reflecting into it, playing with shapes and forms. Or at the tiles and a bird, and sit there for hours without end.

That was easy. But he couldn’t do it. There was a price paid for that solace. Losing oneself. It was dangerous territory. Maybe that’s why they weren’t really left alone at the center.

Many thoughts were coming during those times; how would it feel straddling the railing bar, one leg at the time, having them dangle in the air and then just slip and fall?

He shook his head. His palms turned cold and sweaty at the thought. Baekhyun remembered when Kyungsoo and he had knotted the bed sheets, removed the bars and stepped out of the window, into the night air.

That, he could relive. He wanted to.

Kyungsoo…

The entrance door opened and he stood up, almost mechanical, like a spring toy and walked out of the room, into the hallway.

“Hey…” he smiled as Chanyeol was taking off his shoes.

“Hey…really shitty day at work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…we need to clean the mess that they done. If it were that simple.” he laughed, shaking his head. “We are hunting them down, like witches. Teach a lesson to everybody.”

“But it’s going to be over soon, right?”

“We hope so.”

“I have a question,” Baekhyun said.

Chanyeol looked at him, smiling. An invitation.

“Have the donations stopped?”

“Not yet. But our doctors had almost found a cure for all those strange diseases. A mutant change in the genes in people had made the cancer spread so fast to all the vital organs. They’ve almost finished the vaccine for it.”

“Just a vaccine?”

“Yes. The change in the gene is due to the changes in the environment and the heightened pollution. Combined with the genetically modified food we eat, most of the people were vulnerable to all of this. But the vaccine will cure it all, from infants to elders. No more donations.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes, it’s amazing,” Chanyeol smiled. “There’s no need for extremism. Only calmness and good thinking.”

Baekhyun wanted to laugh, smash his ego. Of course he felt proud, like a cock between all those stupid, brown hens, running around through the yard, feeling kind. It didn’t matter anymore that they had fucked people up, that he had changed sides. The cure was almost placed on the silver platter. He was to be a hero, the savior.

He really wanted to laugh, not because it was funny. But because he couldn’t face any other reaction; crying or shouting, they were beginning to feel unnatural to him.

“I’m so proud of you,” Baekhyun said.

He wrapped both arms around his neck-he could squeeze them, press his neck until he couldn’t breathe, kissed him long on the lips, with the eyes closed. Maybe Chanyeol was not a bad person.

Maybe he was, vile, charged with frustration and hatred for everything. He was only trying to do the best thing for everyone. It was called utilitarianism. Consequentialism. The means didn’t matter, only the result.

He was the means.

 

Baekhyun couldn’t sleep. The snoring next to him didn’t sound like snoring, but like a drill searching through his brain. He leaned on his elbows, looking down at Chanyeol’s face. But the room was dark, so he couldn’t see much. It didn’t matter anyway.

He stood up from the bed, grabbed the pack of cigarettes from the night table and walked out of the room, closing the door. The night was warm, like most of them.

No wind, no sounds. Except for that snoring.

He lighted a cigarette, placed it between his lips; there wasn’t much pleasure left in the act itself, only a reminiscent of the past. It grounded him, made him feel like he had something of his own. A vice. A disease inflicted by himself.

Down the road, an ambulance passed, the lights reflecting for a while, blue and red, in the windows. He wondered who was about to die, or give birth. It had always been one of these two options. Nothing else.

Nobody thinks that an ambulance rushes for a burnt finger or a sliced leg. But deaths and births, those brings emotion, adrenaline.

He blew out the smoke, watching it travel back inside the room. That was it; the survival instinct, keeping him locked in the apartment, smiling at Chanyeol even though he didn’t feel like it. Or like it. But it was the need to not die, not hear the ambulance rushing down the streets for him.

He thought that getting out of the center would make him happy or at least push everything behind. All that was left of his memories, sliced, scattered across. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t any happiness or relief. He tried to imagine a movie, one of those romantic comedies he used to watch only because they were making him feel like there was some hope.

He sighed, throwing the cigarette through the window. Maybe if the night didn’t end, then everything would just be alright.

 

“How did you sleep?” Chanyeol asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Well…” Baekhyun smiled, kissing his cheek.

But the night was over; he was in broad daylight, stark and too real. Was that how his life would look from then on?

“You could go do something fun today.”

“Like what?”

“You could call some of your friends, see how they are.”

He had his old phone back, old phone…those contacts. Maybe he couldn’t even remember the names, who those people actually were. His friends…it made him laugh, again.

“Alright, I will. Do you have work today?”

“Yes…Baek…”

“I’m going to meet with some friends. It’s alright, don’t worry,” he said, touching his hand.

Baekhyun stood up from the bed and walked inside the bathroom. He closed the door, sliding to the cold tiles. All day ahead of him, free to play with those bright colored substances; or knives or…anything he could think of.

But his will was beginning to get shallow, smaller and smaller, washed away by a water jet. He didn’t have much of it left.

So that wasn’t an option anymore, not when his palms were clammy and sweating, and his throat was getting dry. Friends. He needed to call some friends. Maybe they were still alive, some of them.

“Baek, I’m making breakfast, so try to hurry!”

“Alright!”

He stood up, looking at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were getting fuller again, his face getting back its usual rosy color, as well as his lips. He was healthy. More wrinkles, across his forehead, a healed cut above his eyebrow. But he looked the same. He didn’t feel the same.

 

The phone had a lot of contacts. Well over 300 hundreds, people he couldn’t remember who they were. Emergency contacts, ones that you might just need at the right time for some help, a connection. Anything.

“Oh Sehun.”

He remembered that name. They used to be friends. He pressed dial. It didn’t ring, went straight to the voice mail. There were a couple of possibilities in his mind: he could be dead, in a center, like him, away, in a different country. Under the ground, decomposing. That seemed like the most probable.

“Kim Minseok.”

Another one. Friend, former friend. He had been married, even have a kid. It rang, once, twice, until it picked up. Baekhyun didn’t want to pick up.

“Hello. I’m…Byun Baekhyun. I’m looking for Kim Minseok?”

“Hey…yes, I’m Minseok. Baek…oh…I thought…wow, so you are well.”

There was a shuffle on the other end, ruffle of clothes, something falling down. A thin voice in the background. A dog.

“Yes, I’m good. Can we meet?”

“Sure…I’m free in the afternoon. Is 5 good?”

“Yes, perfect.”

Baekhyun placed the phone down, on the table. Kim Minseok…they used to be friends, not the closest. Just friends, maybe even acquaintances, calling 5 times a year, meeting 2 times. For old time sake. That’s what he could remember.

He had gone to the wedding, with Chanyeol even. They had danced and ate too much cake. That was all.

Baekhyun didn’t like the street, the noises, all the cars and the people. Where was the quietness of the center, Irene’s soft voice and the rose bushes? He wanted those, not cement alleys and grey buildings. That world had been everything to him in the past.

They met at a small cafe. He could still remember the streets, the places. It was all mechanical, a memory that couldn’t be lost.

“Baek…” Minseok smiled, hugging him.

Tight, warm, friendly. It felt like claws, squeezing around him.

“Hey…”

So that was him. He had a greying beard, greying hair, balding at the sideburns. But it was Minseok, unmistakable.

“I thought the worse…”

The café was not crowded and he was thankful for that. They took a table in the far corner, near a window.

“Where did they send you?”

“To a center. And then to another. I’m not too sure.”

He still didn’t know what happened then. What had been with those people. His rescuers?

“Uhm…Chanyeol came last week and took me back home.”

“Chanyeol is some sort of national hero, now,” Minseok laughed.

“Did you keep in touch with him?”

“Yes…it had been a rough couple of years. Especially with you god knows where…”

“Did you give any donation?”

“Me? No…it wasn’t mandatory for people with children. Too risky. Baek…what happened?”

“Nothing. I’ve told you. I was moved from one center to another.”

“Chanyeol told me some things but-“

“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s all over, let it be all over.”

Fucker, he wanted to say. No, he wanted to stand up, hit him with a chair, and then go. They had no right to say it had been a rough couple of years. No right.

“I’m really good now. I’ve missed Chanyeol.”

Liar, he wanted to shout again. He didn’t miss anybody, not when they had left him die like a fucking animal. Not when they were all alright, going on with their lives. He hadn’t. His life had suddenly took a turn and stopped, right above a cliff. Another step, and he would have been floating face down in the black waters; or impaled by the sharp rocks at the bottom.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I know,” he smiled. “I…how’s Joy?”

“Great. Our third baby is on the way.”

“On the way…” he smiled.

Small, pink and crying half-humans, covered in puke and diapers filled with shit; soon to be vaccinated and revaccinated, over and over, until no disease could touch them.

“Third baby…you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah…”

Of course he had been. Not opened and reopened on a metal table, drugged for years to stop thinking and trying to escape. He wanted a life of that sort; with pink, pukey babies and baby-showers and stupid gifts. Those were things you could throw in a basket, under the bed and forget about them because you were to buy new, better ones anyway.

Minseok didn’t have much wrinkles. Life had been gentle on him; more babies, more gifts, more baby showers. When would they stop? Third, four or fifth pink, crying baby?

A phone rang. It wasn’t his. He couldn’t even remember the song he chose years ago. Was it some lucky go happy song, one that you get bored of it after the first few listens, but you keep it because you hope the happiness would stick to you?

“Sorry, it’s Joy. Sam is running a fever.”

“Sure…I should go,” Baekhyun said, placing a couple of bills on the table. “Take care.”

He stepped out of the café without looking back. Maybe he should have lingered. What was the right thing to do? Back then, when he had used to care, he had known.

The streets were busier. But the mechanical memory was intact. Every turn and twist of the cement path was known to him. Some new apartments or businesses, glass buildings towering over the sky. 

Then, he saw him. Or he was the one who spotted him, a couple of meters ahead, leaning on a white wall.

“Baek…”

He increased his pace, the soles of the shoes barely touching the ground.

“Baek…”

His wrist was grabbed; pulled back, stopped.

“It’s me.”

Baekhyun closed his eyes, feeling the fingers glide across his skin, warm; a tinge of sweat. Too much standing in the sun.

“Baek…I’ve been searching for you for so long. Since they’ve moved you to that center.”

“Why?”

He didn’t open his eyes. There could be an infinite amount of reactions and he didn’t want any of them.

“I know I should have tried harder but-“

“You shouldn’t have tried at all.”

“Baek…”

“I’m fine now. I’m all good. Now can you let me go?”

His eyes opened, fixated on him, as the light was falling straight on his face.

“Do you really want that?”

“Yes. No.”

“I’ve tried…finding you. I really did.”

“I’m living with Chanyeol again,” Baekhyun said. “I’m with him.”

“Oh…”

“I should go now.”

“Give me your number. Please.”

Numbers. That sounded funny, unreal. But it was the realest thing, something that people had always been doing. Exchanging numbers.

Kyungsoo looked the same. But he couldn’t really remember the old Kyungsoo, the one sliding down the rope made out of bed sheet, laughing and breathing and living. There were 2 Kyungsoo, separated by time and memories, one of his mind and the other, right in front of him.

“Can I call you?”

“For what?”

“Or call me…if you want to go for a stroll. I put my number into your phone. You should…have a password.”

 

Chanyeol was cooking. The kitchen smelled like burnt things, maybe meat kept for too long in the pan. It wasn’t homey, the smell, but more so repugnant.

“Hey…things didn’t go as planned.”

“I’m not hungry anyway.”

“Could you give me a hand?” Chanyeol asked.

Baekhyun nodded. He didn’t want to. The meat was standing like a dead thing in the pan, browned on the side, with specks of black. The oil was bubbling around its edges.

“Keep an eye on it.”

He could just pour all the oil all over himself. Swallow it. No. Too painful. He placed the piece of meat on a plate with a napkin on it. For the grease. Another piece of meat in the pan, put with a fork.

“Thanks for the help, babe,” Chanyeol said and kissed him on the cheek. “I went to the bathroom and forgot about it, so the first one turned black,” he laughed. “How was with Minseok?”

“Good.”

“You could go out with him more often.”

Baekhyun shrugged, turning the meat around.

“I love you…” Chanyeol whispered.

Kissed him on the lips, smiling.

“Yeah, me too.”

 

He gave him a hand job that night. Not because Chanyeol asked for it or because he felt needy or filled with lust; but because he knew he was supposed to. It was an unwritten rule that sooner or later, he had to. Not a hand job maybe, anything else. But it had to be something.

Sticky, his fingers were rubbing against the warm skin. He was doing it with his eyes closed; when was it over?!

It was, hot liquid all over his hand; he should have stopped sooner or taken a napkin, clean the mess. Everything was new to him; the motions were mechanical, learnt sometime in the past and never forgotten.

“Thanks…” Chanyeol said, cupped his face; kissed him over and over.

“I need…to wash my hands.”

In the movies he had been watching, there was never the part about washing the hands, using some soap to remove the white, translucent substance. Smell it even. It made his stomach churn. Maybe something was all of a sudden defective inside his body. A wheel stopped turning; one turned rusty. There were many possibilities.

He had used to enjoy it. That he knew. But what happened?

 

Baekhyun wanted to make himself believe that his finger slipped and called him by mistake. But it didn’t. There was no mistake. He wanted to call him.

They met in a park; he had used to go there all the time during his university days. The pathways, the trees and all the benches; he could remember them. Kyungsoo was sitting on one of them, beneath an oak tree.

He took a breath in and one out.

“Hi!”

“Sorry…I’m late.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled. “Sit.”

Kyungsoo patted the bench and he sat down, looking straight ahead, at the bushes on the side of the path.

“I’m married,” Kyungsoo said. “And I’m a jerk for not telling you from the beginning.”

Baekhyun burst into laughter. He didn’t know why; maybe because he couldn’t think of any other reaction. Any other would have been too much and too sudden.

“Is that funny to you?”

“No…” he said, looking straight ahead.

Nothing really was.

“I’m sorry…I thought that if I had told you than you’d…”

“I don’t really remember much, so it shouldn’t matter. Don’t worry,” Baekhyun said.

“Baek…”

“Stop.”

He stood up from the bench, pacing around with the hands placed on his hips. A stone rolled down the path, kicked by the tip of his shoe, rolling and rolling, until it kicked another one, bigger. Then it stopped. He stopped too, turning around to look at Kyungsoo. But he couldn’t. So he stared down at his khaki pants, thinking that they had the color of rotten eggs. He almost expected them to smell like that too.

“Baek…I’m sorry.”

“I said you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes, I do. I lead you on.”

“And I have a boyfriend. Fiancé. Whatever the shit you want to call it. You are married, I’m engaged. And I don’t care about whatever it was between us. I don’t.”

“Then why did you call me?”

“I don’t know…” Baekhyun whispered and laughed again.

He sat down on the bench and grabbed a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket.

“You still smoke.”

“I do…”

“Dunhill, mentholated?”

“Yeah…”

“Me too…”

They were sitting in silence, Baekhyun watching the smoke leave his mouth, slide between his lips, warm and tangy, filled with slow death and calmness.

“I didn’t think that I would see you again,” Kyungsoo said. “I came to visit you at the hospital a couple of times. But you couldn’t really recognize me anymore. They were-“

“Drugging me. Yeah, I know. So you came…”

“Of course I did.”

“Why is it of course? We were just a little more than strangers. That was stupid of you.”

“But now you called to see me. Isn’t this even stupider?” Kyungsoo asked.

“Maybe. But it won’t happen again.”

“Of course it won’t.”

“Don’t you have a little pity for you wife? Don’t you? How am I supposed to trust you when you can’t even be faithful to her?”

“Baek…”

He threw the cigarette butt on the ground, squishing it with his shoe.

“Am I supposed to be impressed right now?”

“Stop it,” Kyungsoo said. “I haven’t felt anything for that woman for a very long time. You have no idea how it is to be with someone you don’t love anymore and only duty and habitude keeps you together.”

“But I know!” Baekhyun shouted. “I do know! I am a fucking ship wreck, good for nothing. I have lost myself and I have fucking nothing left. Do you know how it feels to be only skin and bones and nothing else because you’ve been sliced open over and over again, drugged and drugged until you couldn’t think, couldn’t read…couldn’t do anything? Do you know how that feels? Because now…I can’t feel anything. Nothing…” he whispered.

“Baekhyun…I’m sorry.”

“For what? Do you feel sorry for me? Pity?”

“I…”

“Just say it…”

“I don’t know how to feel.”

“I don’t know either,” he sighed.

 

Maybe it was because of nothing in particular, or something so small he couldn’t register it, but Baekhyun couldn’t look Chanyeol in the eye. And it was not because he didn’t want to see him; but he couldn’t meet his gaze. Very much still present, Kyungsoo was there, like a bug, behind a window. Smashing against it.

But it couldn’t break it, could it?

“Are you tired?” Chanyeol asked.

“A little.”

“We could go early to bed.”

“Yeah…we could.”

But sleep wasn’t there, at the corners of his mind, prying. He sat down, on the edge of the bed, thinking out of the blue about Irene and her red nails. About the rose bushes and the winding path in the garden. He missed them. The calmness.

Chanyeol touched his hand, brushing the fingers against his. He had to do it, he knew it. His body was tense, sore. Warm breath on his neck, closer and closer, until wet lips replaced it, gliding across the skin.

It should have felt different, he knew that. Everything should have felt different.

He turned around, wrapping both arms around Chanyeol’s neck, and pushed him down on the bed. The tips of his fingers slid below the elastic band of his pants, pulling them down to his knees.

“You sure?”

“Yeah…”

 

His feet dangled across the edge. The waters were hitting and hitting, below him, maybe a couple of meters, the concrete wall. Each time they would go higher, droplets would fall all over his ankles, sometimes even his hands. It was cold, a small shock followed by another one.

Behind him, cars were passing. It was mid-day. He didn’t know where people were going, rushing somewhere or maybe not. They were not rushing in fact, it was just a string of cars, bound to continue like that until no end.

Like the tape in a cassette, winding and winding. Stuck to it there were the cars.

“That’s dangerous.”

Baekhyun turned to look at Kyungsoo, sitting down next to him, with a smile on his face. He caved in and called. Again.

“It smells nice.”

“Salty.”

“Yeah…”

He picked a blue pebble from the edge, flat on both sides, but with sharp edges, and threw it into the waters.

“How much do you think there’s to the bottom?” Baekhyun asked.

“A couple of meters. Minimum.”

He threw another stone, bigger, which splashed around, reaching his knees. There were 3 dark dots on his jeans.

“I was thinking…what about a movie?” Kyungsoo asked.

He opened a pack of cigarettes, placing one between his lips. Baekhyun liked how he looked like that, with the wind going through his hair which was beginning to grow.

“Want one?”

“I’m good.”

Kyungsoo breathed out the smoke, watching it disappear somewhere above the waves. They almost had the same color, only more transparent, floating around. His lips looked fuller that day, glistening. Maybe lip balm. He wanted to know how they tasted, maybe like cherries, the artificial flavor, or like honey. Sweet.

“So…what about that movie?”

Baekhyun shrugged, smiling.

“I don’t know any good movie.”

“I’ll find one,” Kyungsoo laughed. “Huh…what do you say?”

“I say that…it might be a bad idea.”

“All of my ideas are bad,” he laughed again, looking at him.

Baekhyun glanced down, at his fingers, and then back up at Kyungsoo, whose smile didn’t falter. He liked him like that, cheery, in good spirits.

“Okay…but let’s watch one now because otherwise I’ll change my mind.”

Kyungsoo nodded, pressing the cigarette on the cement.

There were some cinemas around, too many of them in fact, but Baekhyun didn’t want to be constricted into one, dark room, with other people. He just wanted to be Kyungsoo and him. Him and Kyungsoo.

Was it that bad?

So he took him to the same park, on a bench somewhere between some trees and bushes, and sat down.

“We said-“

“I know what I said, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Baekhyun laughed.

“So what’s the plan?”

“Just sit…”

“Sit…hmm.”

Baekhyun grabbed his wrist and pulled him down.

“Hey…”

“We can just talk and-“

“And…?”

“And. Whatever.”

“Like, anything?”

“Whatever.”

“Okay…whatever,” he smiled.

They both smiled, and the shadows were falling over their faces, softly; somehow, Baekhyun felt fine just like that, next to him. Not talking, sitting in silence, watching the clouds passing on the sky between the leaves of the trees. It was good. The sun, sometimes peaking through and then just the shadows and their own breaths.

Kyungsoo smiled again, taking a cigarette out of the pack; Baekhyun grabbed one too, placing it between their lips.

“I…”

“You,” Kyungsoo grinned.

“You.”

“You…” he laughed, touching the back of his hand. “This is better than seeing a movie.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What are you going to do?”

“You mean?”

“Your life…Chanyeol, everything. Are you going to still be with him?”

Baekhyun shrugged.

“Do I have another choice?”

“Plenty. Like leaving him for good, getting a job, your own place. I can help. And not an interested help. Just helping you because I really…care about you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Baek…” he sighed.

“Don’t think less of me because I choose to depend on him but really…this, everything is too much for me. I can’t work, Kyungsoo. Not anymore.”

“Yes, you can. You just need time to adjust. I am here. Like a friend,” Kyungsoo said, looking at him. “Let me be your friend.”

“You are my friend,” he whispered. “My only one.”

“Then what stops you from trusting me?”

“Don’t you want anything more?”

“I…I can live like this, if that’s what you want. I won’t ask for more.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Then I’m stupid.”

“Kyungsoo,” he said, pouting. “Okay…”

“Okay…what?”

“Okay find me a job and I’ll move out. But I can’t be on my own. I might try to…” and he looked down, at his wrist, the blue veins underneath the skin.

“I’ll talk to my wife.”

“I can’t live with you two!”

“We have a spare bedroom. As I said, I’m stupid enough. We’ll be fine. Just stop staying with that guy, okay? I’m not saying that I’m better but-“

“That’s exactly what you are saying,” he laughed.

“Okay, I’m better. So…what do you say?”

“I might be annoying and quiet and depressed and…other things.”

“I’ll take you to a psychologist. What do you think?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you this nice to me?”

“Because I care about you.”

“Why?”

“Baek…”

“You have no reason to care about me.”

“Baek…”

“Fine. I’m moving in with you.”

“Good,” Kyungsoo smiled. “Good.”

“Good…” he whispered, smiling.

 

Baekhyun didn’t tell Chanyeol. He couldn’t. There was no excuse, no lie to be made to cover his cowardly action.

Going down the stairs, he looked one more time at the wooden door, and then, threw the backpack on his left shoulder. His fingers slid across the yellow wall as he reached the base floor. Light was coming through the big windows.

Chanyeol could be home anytime. What was he doing?

Suddenly, everything seemed stupid, pointless. Running from one to another, like that would make him happy. He laughed, opening the door. The summer heat hit him in the face, strong, strangling his neck, punching his lungs and replacing the air with scorching one.

Waiting for him was the car, there, real; it’s rectangular shape, gleaming in the sunlight, the blue varnish and the headlights. Kyungsoo looking at him.

“You were quick.”

Baekhyun nodded. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. His tongue ran along the jagged cut, tasting the warm blood that kept dripping and dripping. Maybe he felt like puking, he wasn’t sure.

Nothing felt right. Not before or after. It all stopped making sense, so he was just there, like a ping pong ball, sliding from one side to the other, not at his own will.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you are hungry?” Kyungsoo said.

“No, not really.”

“I told my wife about you while I was waiting. She isn’t that pleased but we’ll make it work.”

Baekhyun sighed, placing the side of his head on the glass; it was warm too. Everything was warm. His insides were churning, hot and spilling over the edges, into his throat; burning everything.

A note. Maybe he should have left a note, something.

But it didn’t matter.

“You can come with me.”

“Where?”

“The restaurant, dummy. I’m getting something to eat,” Kyungsoo said.

“I’ll wait.”

Baekhyun sighed again, biting his cheek. The car smelled good, like aftershave. While he had been waiting, maybe, Kyungsoo had sprayed a little cologne on himself, or maybe it was lingering, after many mornings of going to work and back again.

He opened the glove compartment; duct tape, sunglasses, papers, a pen, an opened pack of biscuits. He closed it back.

Baekhyun opened the door. It was getting too hot inside. He lighted a cigarette, staring at the cement in front of him, without blinking, like in a staring game. Thinking about anything, it felt decent; but he wasn’t sure what decent meant anymore. He could stay like that for an infinite amount of time, in that vegetative state that barely resembled existence.

The world was slowly fading away, the colors blurring together.

“Baek…”

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah…just…”

He didn’t even smoke once. The cigarette was sitting between his fingers.

“Baek…do you have any regrets about any of this? I wasn’t trying to force you into doing anything that you wouldn’t want.”

“It’s okay. I’m just tired.”

“Are you only tired?”

“Yes. Let’s go home, please.”

He didn’t know what home meant anymore. There was no home, not one entirely of his. Separate homes, of different people where he could sleep, live. But not his. He was the guest.

Maybe he should have left a message. He wasn’t sure. At times, as the buildings were passing by, replaced by trees and then houses, that seemed like the decent thing to do. Like people had used to, or still use to.

He could call, but he wouldn’t trust his voice of making any sound. There wasn’t much he wanted to talk about in general. Silence was preferable.

His conditions were better, he knew that. Better than at the center, better than at the hospital. Then why did he still miss the center?

“We’re home,” Kyungsoo said, stopping the engine.

Home.

The house was big, too big, cream color, with a dark red roof and a big, mahogany entrance door. On each side of the path there were tall trees, old ones, for generations standing there.

“You didn’t tell me you live in a mansion.”

Kyungsoo laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s not such a big deal.”

Baekhyun smiled, he didn’t know what else to do. Everything was big about the house, as if to contrast with the small stature of the man in front of him.

“Baek…”

“I’m good,” he whispered.

The house was quiet, not even the floor squeaking underneath his feet.

“So…what do you think?”

“You are fancy. This is a…”

“Too much? Yeah…I bought this years ago. Back then I cared about stuff like this.”

“And now you don’t?” Baekhyun asked.

“Not really.”

“Is your wife home?”

“I think so…don’t worry. She’s nice.”

Nice. Another funny word. Everything was funny in the end. His life was only a comedy, spinning around in circles, dependent on one or another. There wasn’t anything his anymore.

“Nice…” he smiled.

All around him was nice. Grand.

He heard footsteps, the swish of a light summer dress against the white walls. There she was, in a doorframe, wearing a silk night robe, with her hair up, like a matron of old times. Her lips were red, not lipsticked, just red and plump. She owned all around her. They all knew that.

“Hello. I’m-“

“I know who you are. Byun Baekhyun. I’ve prepared the bedroom at the first floor for him,” she said, looking at Kyungsoo.

“Thanks.”

“I’m Amelie.”

Baekhyun breathed out. His phone rang. It must have been Chanyeol. But he couldn’t answer, he had no excuses, nothing. There he was, among strangers. Chanyeol was not a stranger, he was the closest thing to home, to safety. Why did he leave?

“Can I go to my room?” he asked like a young child.

“Sure…I’ll show you around,” Kyungsoo said.

 

Baekhyun turned off the light and breathed out. Alone, at last. The room was dark, the curtains pulled over the windows. Dark. Alone.

The sheets were still cold on his body, soft. A knock at the door. He knew it was Kyungsoo.

“Hey…are you asleep?”

“No…”

“Okay.”

He closed the door, stepping towards the bed. “I can’t really sleep,” Kyungsoo said.

“Me neither.”

“I was thinking…”

“Don’t…think. I do it too much on my own.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Kyungsoo sat down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you like it…here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Amelie is okay. She doesn’t hate you or anything.”

“And yet you are here with me and not there with her. Shouldn’t you be with your wife?”

Kyungsoo sighed, letting himself fall back on the bed. It was all quiet. Warm, maybe too warm, but not enough to make you feel uncomfortable.

“Maybe I’m a terrible person.”

“I’m a terrible person too then.”

Baekhyun smiled, reaching for his hand.

“I like it here…”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?” Kyungsoo asked, turning his head to look at him.

“What if I were?”

“I want you to be honest with me.”

“Then I am…”

 

Baekhyun sat down on the bench, leaning the back of his head on the back rest. The day was bright, sunny. Beginnings of autumn, with auburn leaves, crinkling in their descent down to the damped ground from the morning rain. It had been only a drizzle, but for long enough to make everything smell like ozone.

He breathed it in, letting the smell sink into his lungs, deeper and deeper, until he exhaled. It was still warm, the touch of sun on his skin, making it go ruddy. Baekhyun sighed, opening his eyes.

Maybe he should be meditating, like it said in one of those magazines he had used to read; battling your inner demons. Just sit and don’t think about anything for one hour. Every day.

He could do that. In fact, he had been doing that for quite a while. But not knowingly, it just happened to catch him, a thoughtless blur, taking control over his mind. It brought the fog with it and twirls of words. Probably meditations wasn’t about that, but it had been the closest thing to it.

It even worked. There was no panic, no anxiety, no harsh feelings anymore. No feelings in fact. He didn’t know where they just went. Nowhere, everywhere, taken by the wind.

The house was empty, he knew that.

He watched them both leave from his window, covered in a blanket, with his fingers tracing circles on the granite sill. There. His house was all his. Endless possibilities, choices. He just had to grab one, anyone. It didn’t matter.

But he felt too lazy, too caught up in that sweet haze to even move. It was nice, sitting just there on the bench, between the auburn leaves and the still damp ground and grass.

Maybe it was better than with Chanyeol, only because of the garden. That looked similar to the one in the center. Like that, he felt better. Then anything could happen, and he wouldn’t even care.

The gate could open, or jump the fence and just go on running on the streets, God knows where. Or just take a match or two and a pile of books and papers in the middle of the house. Or a rope, or sheets tied together from the chandelier.

Endless possibilities. But he wasn’t eager to grab any of them. None of them. On the bench it was good. He could live like that, it didn’t matter.

There were no thoughts, there hadn’t been for a while.

Baekhyun closed his eyes, letting the sun just brush against the warming skin, feel the wind gently crossing the bridge of his nose.

It was good like that. It didn’t matter after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments are well loved:)


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